


A Study of the Nightmare

by WalkingTheRoad



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Asexual Character, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Interaction, Gen, Minor Ritualistic Self Harm due to the Entity, Non-Verbal Killer(s), SI doesn't know everything, character exploration, depictions of panic attacks, mild deviations from canon, nudging canon to something that makes a little more sense, survivors do their best anyway, therapy doesn't exist, what happens between the trials?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-18
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-08-25 14:29:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 37,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16662643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WalkingTheRoad/pseuds/WalkingTheRoad
Summary: How well would you do in a horror movie? Me? I'm getting my ass kicked. At least I'm not alone here, but just how in the hell are we all going to get out? That, unfortunately, is still a work in progress.





	1. First Trial

**Author's Note:**

> Who in their right minds would drop an SI into DbD? Well, can’t say I am in my right mind, but I did it none the less. Let me know what y’all think, and if I made any mistakes here. First couple written trials might be a bit rough as I’m not used to writing in horror, so any advice on adding tension or structure would be welcome. Additionally, I’ve got a back log going, so you all have at least 3 weeks of material to look forward to. Have fun, and enjoy the suffering~!

## Chapter 1: The First Trial

  
“Now what in the nine hells is going on?” It’s a very strange and disorienting few moments when I find myself in what looks like…well I’m not quite sure where I am at all, really. I push my glasses up with a frown, one hand in a pocket as I try to get a good look around and figure out how I’ve gone from a trip to the store to my new location.

My surroundings are dark, and a full, too large moon is high in the sky. What looks like the ruins of a building looms in the distance, perhaps some two or three stories tall, and I move towards it instinctively as it makes a good landmark. Hell, maybe it can give me data on just where I am too.

That’s when I hear a ghostly shrieking that makes me jump a proverbial foot in the air; the doppler effect tells me that it had started somewhere to my right and moved to the distance on my left in very short order. The sound by itself is absolutely creepy, but what makes my stomach fall out to the bottom of my boots isn’t the scream itself but how familiar it sounds, and where I know it from.

I duck down behind some debris as I take a second look at the grounds I’m on, my heart in my throat as I begin to put some pieces together. I never played Dead By Daylight myself, mostly because I’m a shit PC gamer and I couldn’t afford the platform version for a while, but I have seen many, many videos online. I liked the character designs and the silliness that the various players would get up to, but now the whole things seem a lot less funny and a lot more terrifying.

I peer cautiously over the pile of junk and squint at the building again, tentatively identifying it as one of the Nurse’s territories. Which, considering that said killer screams her way to somewhere behind me, makes it all the more likely I’m not going to come out of this particular encounter all that intact.

It also doesn’t help that I’m wearing a bright white ski coat at the moment. Fuck all the ducks.

I empty all my pockets (cellphone, two pens, house keys, spare change, wallet, packet of tissues, medication for panic attacks), unzip my coat, and stuff everything back into my front pocket on my much darker navy blue sweater. The coat had been a Christmas gift from my mom, expensive and warm and has lasted me for years. But it’s much too likely to get me killed here, so while it’s with a heavy heart, I don’t hesitate to abandon it.

It’s chilly without my extra layer, but I reckon that I won’t be focused on that too much in a short while. With a dark top, black jeans and black boots, I’ll be harder to spot if I’m careful and quiet. All that done, I start walking towards any lights that might indicate a generator. If I can find another survivor, I can get the debrief over with and try to help if I can.

I find the first generator in fairly short order, which is nice. There’s no indication of anyone having been here yet, so I decide that’s a bust and move on. Then I hear the shrieking again, and the orange streak that usually indicates the Nurse’s blinking cuts right in front of me.

“SHIT!” I don’t even think about hiding, panic setting me off and making me bolt. I hear the whizz of the bonesaw behind me which just spurs me on, and I don’t head towards the Asylum because I don’t want to be right next to the goddamn dungeon.

The rasp of the Nurse’s stun setting in after her teleport buys me a little extra time to set some distance between me and the killer, and I do my best to make use of it as much as possible. I know that she can track me using the scratch marks the Entity leaves in the wake of a running survivor, so hypothetically my best bet would be to run for a little bit, then slow down and hide somewhere.

Of course, I’m freaking out and already trying not to scream my bloody head off as the Silent Hill knock off screams again and streaks on ahead of me. My saving grace seems to be that she overshot the teleport, but considering the way she’s looking right at me when she comes to a stop, she might just be getting a good look at the new survivor who’s intruding on her territory.

Honestly, the way she hovers and hangs in the air is spine chilling, no puns concerning the perk intended. She looks like a hanging victim the way her head lolls to one side, with only her glowing orange hand and the firm grip on her bonesaw indicating life is in her form. I can’t even begin to try discern what her face might look like under the pillowcase that wraps around her head, but I can see some kind of black stain where her eyes would be.

I skid a bit as I juke for a turn, going perpendicular to the Asylum rather than towards it now; the Nurse raises her hand, glowing bright orange, but her head turns elsewhere as a light springs up in the distance. In a heartbeat, she blinks off, her Ringwraith like shriek trailing after her.

I immediately slow down, panting harshly but not stopping as I just try to keep on the move. I was too focused on trying to audibly and visually track the Nurse to really notice her terror radius, but it does seem like my heart isn’t gonna jump out of my chest at this instant moment anymore. God this isn’t gonna do any my anxiety any favors…

Focus. Head in the game, which is Dead By Daylight. Generators, exit doors, escape hatch, hooks. Find a chest if your feeling lucky, which I don’t. But I’ll keep an eye out all the same, even a bloody flashlight would be useful right now. Pretend to get the explanation later if you run into anyone.

Unfortunately, I’ve never had good spacial awareness, and it’s easy to get myself lost. As I wander around looking for a generator, I hear someone scream in the distance. Male voice, elderly…might be Bill from Left 4 Dead. Crap. Maybe a minute later, with still nothing useful in sight except for a hook, I see a red outline in the distance fall as the voice cries out again. Shit.

I consider for a moment letting any of the others try to rescue the old man from getting hooked, but I think of the bystander effect, which I’d studied during my philosophy classes. Someone else’s problem, someone else will help…no. I should try, even if I’m scared half out of my mind of running into the Nurse again.

I move carefully in the direction I’d seen Bill get downed, and swallow around a dry throat as my heart starts to kick up again. She’s close, and I can hear Bill struggle and curse, the sound moving from my perspective. OK, so he’s definitely getting carried---

“Hah! Not today ya old bitch!” Despite the pain in his voice, it’s clear to me that Bill managed to get out of the killer’s grasp, which means he’s hauling ass and she’s likely not gonna be happy. I keep my head down and wince when I hear her blink, but there’s just the whiff of her bonesaw slicing through the air.

Soon the two are out of earshot, and I decide I should try to get back on task. Which, fortunately for me, goes better this time around when I find a generator that seems to have been worked on already, two pistons already moving sluggishly.

Alright…now how the fuck do I fix this?

I carefully poke and prod some of the exposed innards, then get an idea and fish out my cellphone. No signal as expected, but the light works fine and I have a near full charge.

…Wait. Does that mean I automatically have a flashlight?

I store the idea away for another time while I turn on the light and peer into the guts of the machine. There’s a tangled mess of wires and metal in one area, while a bit to the right there’s a more organized set of plugs and pieces. So…less actual fixing, more life or death puzzle?

Well, guess the Entity has as much of an idea as I do how an actual generator works. Using the light, and trying to keep track of my heart rate to gauge where the Nurse is, I start matching wires to colored plugs and hope that I get things right and don’t cause an explosion.

What causes me to pause isn’t the thing spitting sparks in my face, but a feminine cry of pain echoing out in the building not too far away. I don’t recognize the voice; the only people I know by sound are Bill and Jake, unfortunately. I turn my head, and notice that my heart rate has ticked up a bit; too close for my tastes, but if she gets downed I should be nearby in order to try for a rescue.

I turn off my phone light and pocket it as the heartbeat gets closer, then start to panic a little when I hear the other survivor gasp and hiss in pain, the rapid thud of shoed feet heading my way. I see a flash of red hair in a window as a person vaults through, and oh shit the Nurse is blinking and streaking my way---!

“Balls!” I yelp as I duck down, the bonesaw whizzing over my head while I scramble away from the generator. Again, the stun works to my advantage, letting me buy a little distance, but the heartrate doesn’t go down and I don’t hear her blinking. So that means she’s still on my ass, which the red light that’s shining behind me confirms.

I save my breath and just swear in my head as I continue hauling ass, the wheezing of the Nurse behind me spurring me on. I see a pallet and remember that those can be used to slow down killers; I slam it down, barely miss stunning her by a few inches, and just keep running.

Unfortunately, my pursuer decides to bypass the obstacle entirely and cuts me off with a blink and slash. And this time the blade of her weapon bites deep into my right shoulder, making me scream in agony as I backpedal. My hand flies up to the wound as I put pressure on it, hot blood soaking into my clothing.

I’ve never really taken this kind of injury before. Never even broke a bone as a kid, so the pain is on a level that I’ve not learned to cope with. I try to keep moving, but my reflexes are slowed enough that even with the disorientation the Nurse has to deal with, she gets another chance to cut into me.

This time it’s across my back, and she hits me with enough force that I fall flat on my face. The wind is knocked out of me, so all I can do is wheeze, too incoherent to even try to crawl away before I feel something pick me up. The Nurse’s telekinetic hold is strange enough to puncture through the haze of the burning lacerations; my brain latches on to the momentarily weightlessness that pulls at my entire body, and for a heartbeat I wonder if this is what zero gravity feels like. Then the Nurse has me over her shoulder, and I force up the willpower to try and writhe out of her grasp, whining and groaning in pain as I do so.

Upside? I’m far enough away from the basement that she doesn’t haul me down there. Downside? There’s a surface hook close enough that I can’t struggle free in time, and I start screaming before the metal bites into my back.

The human brain is a strange thing, and will focus on the oddest details in order to cope with trauma. It’s why an idle part of me notices that the game didn’t get the sound of being hooked right; it’s not just a wet squish of meat and blood, but the scrape of bone too. The hook is also closer to the sternum rather than the shoulder when it punctures through my torso, threading through ribs and using that to hold my weight.

And it hurts like a fucking bitch, and my screaming cuts off for a moment as my whole system is stunned by the sensory overload. Tears flood my eyes, but I let a scream rip even as the Nurse teleports, more to project my location to any of the other survivors than anything else. I lose my breath shortly afterwards, and hang limply on the meat hook, trying to save what little energy I have that isn’t focusing on the furious throbbing of my nerves.

I understand why the chances of getting off the hook are so low now in the game. Just the thought of trying to muster the strength to pull myself up and off this thing is not something I want to ponder at the moment.

A flash of red out of the corner of my eye has me looking up, and I see a human outline approaching my way. Male, I think…doesn’t look like Meg, who screwed me over with the Nurse, but how much of that is honestly her fault?

The figure resolves to be Bill, who’s bandaged and looking a little worn, but is chomping on his unlit cigarette as he does one last spot check before coming up and lifting me off the hook with a grunt.

I whine instinctively as the hook grinds against my ribs and shoulder blade, and the old man mutters, “Quiet,” as he sets me on my feet. I sway for a moment, dizzy from the blood loss, but have just enough presence of mind to follow him when he gestures me to do so.

We make some distance between us and the hook, and I’m trying to keep my panting and whimpering to a minimum as we move. No injuries to my legs thankfully, so at least I can somewhat keep up with him.

We get to a spot with some cover, some pointless stone wall that serves no purpose, and he gestures for me to crouch next to him. I only now notice the white box at his side, and I all but collapse to his side, digging my teeth into my sweatshirt covered knuckles while he packs the puncture wound.

“Hold this to the front side,” his voice is gruff as he hands me an alcohol soaked cotton pad. I hiss, but do as ordered, and let the tears spill while he works on binding everything with a gauze roll.

It takes a minute to patch me up, and during that time, another generator lights up. “You bought us time, I’ll give ya that,” Bill says to me. “Fix the generators, find the exit doors, and don’t get caught by that bitch.”

“Generators, doors, don’t get skewered,” I pant, nodding to indicate that I at least understand what he’s saying, even if words sap more energy than I’d like.

“We’ll tell ya more when we get outta here.” He pats me on the shoulder. “Now get movin’, the Nurse can see us if we’re patchin’ each other up if she’s too close.”

Shit. Nurse’s Calling. Forgot about that perk. I stumble, but manage to get on my feet, and give the old man a last nod before we split ways.

Once I’m alone again, I take off my glasses and try to wipe off some of the tears that had spilled onto the lenses. My left sleeve is still mostly clean, so with a wince and a rub, the worst of the salt water is rubbed off. Seeing is important in this clusterfuck.

Shortly after I finish that task, I hear someone else yell out in pain, and wince. A second male voice…that sounds like Jake. Great. I pause and listen closely, but despite two more blinks from the Nurse, there’s no second cry. Seems like he juked her for now, so that’s good. Now, generators and/or chests.

I find another generator after a minute of searching, but this one’s fresh. I barely restrain muttering to myself, and old habit, and do my best to ignore the throbbing of my shoulder as I get to work solving the puzzle like bits hidden in the interior of the machine.

Several parts seem to fall into place in short order, and I wonder if that translates to a great skill check. A part of me cheers for rolling a natural d20, and the thought makes me smile a little as I continue to chug forward on this thing. Red wire to Red plug in, yellow to yellow…what, is this green or blue? Damn lighting…

BOOM! “Fuck!” Whatever it was I didn’t get the right plug in, because the sparks when flying and my ears are stinging. I freeze, listening for the telltale screaming of the Nurse, but it remains in the distance. I wait for a few precious seconds, then decide to stick to the generator and keep on working, heart in my throat.

My nerves are shot though, and I slip up on one of the puzzle bits this time, triggering another explosion. I decide to say fuck it to that particular genny and back off for a while on it, walking away on shaky legs and deciding to look for another one to work on.

Instead, I find a chest which has me looking around cautiously for any traces of the killer. Far off, I hear who must be Meg swearing up a storm, but no actual cries of pain. A thought has me wonder; the Nurse is just about the most dangerous killer in the game in the right hands, but I’ve been the only one hooked tonight. Is she serious, or is she more messing around than anything else?

I decide to chance rummaging around in the chest, wondering if there’s a reason why the action takes so long in the game. The moment I open it, the game makes a tad bit of sense. Over whatever might be in here, there’s a lot of crap. Leaves, bricks, burned sticks, stray wires. If I don’t want to make too much noise, I have to take some time in digging out whatever loot I may get.

I mostly use my left hand for this action, not wanting to jostle my injured shoulder more than it already is. My heart rate is high, but not artificially, so I focus on getting this done and moving on. I see some white after moving some more debris, and I hiss out a little, “Yes!” when I pull out a medkit with a green cross on it.

Then I jump when I hear a scream, and look around to see the red outline of someone downed. Shit, that’s Meg. Seems she couldn’t dodge the Nurse this time.

I grab the kit and start shuffling towards the other survivor, cursing quietly when she vanishes from view. I have no idea where any nearby hooks might be, so this could take some doing.

Hardly a few seconds later, her form lights up again as she’s placed on a hook, a holler of pain echoing through the area. The Nurse blinks off shortly after, off to find more victims.

Well, at least she isn’t camping, is my rather morose thought as I approach Meg. The spidery arms of the Entity is gradually beginning to form, and I set down the medkit next to the hook as Meg croaks, “Hey, new girl! Sorry I lead her to you last time.”

The redhead is wearing a blue shirt and jacket, her hair braided into pigtails. Some jeans and running sneakers top off her outfit, and I have no idea if any of it is DLC material or not. Of course, said outfit is stained red due to the hook in her shoulder, a slice across her left leg, and another cut in her side.

“I have no idea what’s going on, but I’m not gonna hold pointless grudges,” I say a little breathlessly as I try to figure out how I’m gonna get Meg off the hook. I have shit for upper body strength, so pulling them down how the game does it isn’t gonna fly. “I’m gonna lift you by the legs, and then up, alright? My shoulder’s too borked to pick you up like the old man did for me.”

“No worries,” the red head gives me a thumbs up, but her smile is more of a grimace.

I wrap my arms around her, just below the hips, and lift with my legs while Meg grabs the hook behind her and pulls herself off with a grunt. I stumble back, but manage to keep the both of us upright as I drop her down.

Then we look down as Jake screams from the basement, hooked.

“Shit, she must’ve grabbed him off the genny!” Meg curses.

“Here,” I say, offering her the medpack. “I have no idea how to use this, and I’m already patched up. You need it more than me.”

“Right…have you seen the gennies? Know how to fix them?” she asks quickly as she takes the box.

I nod. “Yeah.”

“Work on ‘em while I get Jake.” With that perfunctory order, she’s off, faster than I am even with a limp.

More than happy to let the athletic deal with the Dungeon of Doom, I go to focus on finding and maybe actually completing a bloody generator this time. After a few moments of searching, I find one that’s actually almost complete, and start on the few wires that are still hanging.

It lights up with a little more care, and I see Jake’s aura vanish from my sight. Good. So that’s everyone hooked once save for Bill, and we’ve got three generators down.

Then I hear said old man cry out in pain, and I groan to myself. “Jinxed it,” I mutter as I get away from the generator and get ready to try and pay the favor back to Bill.

It takes longer than expected for the Nurse to hook him; he must’ve almost pulled himself out of her grasp, and I can only imagine how furious he must be at the bad timing. I start making my way towards him, swallowing when the Nurse blinked close enough for me to see the streak, but she kept on going so I continued my track for Bill.

I’m not too far from the hook when he gets pulled down. I approach anyway to check on who it was that grabbed him, and creep my way up to see Meg patching Bill up with kit I gave her, her own wounds wrapped.

“Think she might be using the Obsession thing on Jake,” Meg says quietly to Bill. “Been chasing him a lot.”

“Well shit,” the old man grunts. “Don’t need her bein’ even faster than she already is.”

“Hi?” I whisper, making the two jump, and I wince apologetically.

“Christ, kid!” Bill growls, then grunts again when Meg jerks on the gauze she’s wrapping around him.

“Hey, don’t bitch, she helped me and tried to help you,” she scolds him with a grin. “And if she can move quietly enough to spook you, it means we’ve got a better chance of getting out of here.”

He grumbles, but doesn’t verbally disagree, so I unfold a little from my bodily cringe.

“I, uh, finished a generator. So that’s three down,” I quietly report.

“Hmph. Find any others?” Bill mutters around his cancer stick.

I shake my head. “Not yet.”

“Then get goin’ kid, we ain’t outta the woods yet.”

OK, fair, but being around other people helps…unless it gets us all killed. I sigh mentally, but nod.

“OK, I got the kit so I’ll be doing saving if it’s needed,” Meg speaks up as I make to leave. “Unless she gets me, in which case, feel free to get me.”

“G-got it,” I confirm. “Alright, see you in a bit.”

I’m off after that, looking for another generator or a chest. Despite the full moon though, it’s dark, and my night vision has never been the best. So I don’t find one before Jake is hollering again, and I wince and sigh at the same time.

“Poor bastard,” I mutter to myself when I finally find another machine. I crouch down next to it, only to leap up as I hear the Nurse shrieking right in my direction.

“SHIT!” This seems a little familiar, I can’t help but think as I bolt again, the pain of my wounds giving me good incentive to keep out of the killer’s reach.

I feel the blade pull on my braid a bit as she blinks again to lash out at me, but then the stun sets in and she rasps in irritation as I get some distance between the two of us. A dropped pallet has me leap onto it and jump forward instead of the parkour action usually used; like I have that kind of skill set in real life!

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Jake’s red outline on the hook get pulled down, and I’m a little glad that if nothing else, I bought Meg enough time to rescue him. If he gets caught again though, he’s dead hook.

Behind me, the pallet is crunched into pieces, which is a perfectly good way of telling me to haul my ass away. That bloody light follows me as I dodge around some more stone walls, and despite the adrenaline, I know that my energy is going to run out sooner rather than later. So I take a risk and head into the Asylum proper, running up the stairs and hugging a pile of trash in an attempt to hide.

The killer follows me up as predicted, but pauses a few feet away when the track marks only she can see cuts off without warning. Her breath rattles as she checks a nearby locker, slamming it shut with a groan when there’s nothing inside. She floats around the floor for another half minute or so, but I just quietly shuffle around the same trash heap, keeping out of sight. Finally, she pulls away, and I just sit there for a minute to keep my heart from leaping out of my chest.

Huzzah for killers with shitty lines of sight.

I then recall that there’s a generator up here, and there’s no sound of it working, so I shuffle on over to get that done. This time I remember to get my phone out again and turn on the light so that I can see what I’m doing; it helps a ton and while I don’t get this done speedily, I do manage to finish it on my own. Four down, one to go.

Actually, make that none to go. Two auras light up as an alarm rings out, one oddly similar to my old high school in fact. Of course, since I’m basically in the middle of the map, they’re both equidistant from me, so I tip toe my way down stairs and slide out of one window before choosing the door that’s ahead of me.

Shit. I hope the Nurse doesn’t have No One Escapes Death equipped right now.

The thought almost has me bolting but I try to keep my cool and stick to a walking pace. No need to give her tracks.

I reach to one door alright, and pull down the lever with a wince at both the noise and my wounds reminding me that I’ve taken a beating. I’d like nothing more than to just pass out in all honest and sleep for a week, but not until I’m bloody well out of here. With the others, if at all possible.

The Nurse’s blinking kicks into high gear compared to the earlier match, audible even over the clanks and squawks of the door. I’m braced for her to charge my way, because I know the killers can see the doors when they’re powered, but it seems she’s heading for the other one. Finally, the alarm gives one last honk, then the gate grinds open. I don’t leave immediately, but I linger near the exit, hoping that everyone can navigate to the exits.

I hear the exit ping from the game ring through the air without warning. Huh, someone got out. However, a few moments later and presented with some Ringwraith shrieks, Bill goes down, only instead of on the ground, he seems to topple right into a hole. Did…did he fall into the trap door?

I can’t help but snerk a little in amusement, clapping one hand over my mouth even as the grin grows. Either the Nurse is fucking with us, or she’s having a really bad run.

However, the good news doesn’t last; Meg is downed and picked up in short order, and I curse, running towards her. She isn’t dead hook, but she is in Struggle mode if she does get hooked, which means someone needs to rescue her. I don’t want to get killed by the Nurse. I really don’t. But the idea of leaving someone to suffer and die makes my stomach churn.

My heart crawls into my throat as I enter the Nurse’s terror radius, using that as a tracker to follow them. Shortly after, Meg gets hooked, her scream hoarser now. Then I hear something else, the sound of something breaking followed by Meg’s shout. A low rumble is accompanied by the strained grunts of pain the athlete gives while she fends off the eldritch abomination.

The Nurse blinks off, but the heartbeat doesn’t fade entirely. She may well be camping to ensure she gets at least one sacrifice in today, but I can’t just leave things as they are. I just can’t, I’d hate myself.

I crouch my way forward, and Meg groans out, “What are you doing? Get---get outta here!”

“Not without you!” I hiss quietly. “Same way as last time.” Without another word, I wrap my arms around her hips and hoist, the spidery legs of the Entity fading the moment I touch her. Meg wrenches herself free with a gasp, and I drop her down.

That’s when the Nurse decides she’s not having this again, and jumps in with her blade swinging.

I jump out of the way, but Meg is too slow by a hair. She’s downed again, but even as I instinctively step forward, she shouts, “Go! Go, it’s OK, just go!”

She’s dead hook. The Nurse is right there, looking at me, guarding her sacrifice, bloodied bonesaw in hand. My heart feels like it’s being squeezed, and I feel dizzy.

“I’m sorry.” My voice is choked, tears are filling my eyes, and I turn tail and run for the door.

I always thought that the sound of the Entity hauling up a sacrifice in the game sounded far too much like a helicopter flying overhead. Here? It’s a horrid, low drone, and I don’t look back when I hear the sound of Meg being impaled, nor the sonic boom that follows her death.

I leave the door, neither hide nor hair of the Nurse in sight.


	2. The Campfire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Character introduction, interaction, and a look at how some things might work between the trials.

I have no idea when I transitioned from the Nurse’s territory to a forest, as busy as I was trying not to break down completely. No one really knows what happens between the encounters the survivors have with the killers. I don’t know if it’s safe to have a full blown stress cry after leaving someone to die, even if it won’t permanently stick.

 

I stumble around for a time, regularly wiping my tears away with my hands as I just do my best to keep on the move. Eventually I hear a twig snap up ahead, and I jerk my head up to see a dark haired man in a green jacket. Jake Park.

 

“H-hey!” I keep my voice low, but save for the occasional call of a crow, the forest is dead silent, so it may as well be a shout. Jake turns his head with a scowl, revealing some five o’clock shadow growing in, but it eases up a touch when he sees me approach.

 

“You’re new,” he states bluntly, one hand in his pocket while the other holds a tool box. Saboteur route, huh?

 

“U-um…” It’s not uncommon for me to get tongue tied around strangers, and I recall that he isn’t the most social of people even at best of times. How many corporate kids would choose to be hermits after all? “Yeah. I’m Tanya.”  
  
“Jake,” he replies, tone neutral. “The others?”

 

I wince. “The old man…she knocked him down, but the red outline just kind of vanished into the ground. Like he fell into a hole?”

 

The corners of his mouth twitch up. “Must’ve fallen into the trap door. Secondary escape route.”

 

I nod. “So there’s three routes out…but, the woman with the braids…I tried to get her off the hook, but the…whatever she is, teleported back in just as I got her down. I dodged, and…she couldn’t get out of the way in time.” Despite my best efforts, I’m tearing up again, and I take my glasses off to wipe my face with my sleeve in frustration.

 

Jake sighs quietly. “Look. Even if you die here, you don’t stay dead. She’ll show up at the campfire, a little worse for wear, and that’ll be the end of it.”

 

I give a wordless, phlegmy sound in acknowledgment, and start digging through my pockets for a napkin, only to pause. “Why…why am I wearing my coat?” Sure enough, I’m wearing the fluffy, white snow coat I’d left behind in the Nurse’s arena. “I ditched it. When I realized I couldn’t risk getting spotted.”

 

“Keep walking.” I look back up and see Jake has moved ahead. I scramble to catch up with him, and he’s kind enough to explain.  
  
“This isn’t the reality you’re used to.” Well, obviously. “Dead doesn’t stay dead, and physics are more of a guideline than a rule. The state you arrived in when you entered this place; your clothes, whatever you have on you, that’s now your default state. When ever you enter, or leave, a trial, you’ll be restored to that default state.”

 

Considering his words, I shift my right shoulder. It’s still sore, but the bandages and packing are gone, and the cuts the Nurse left on me are now just itching lines. “Like respawning in a video game,” I murmur, well aware of the irony.

 

“Feng describes it as such, yes,” he responds. “Since your new, you won’t get much downtime in between trials. Not until one of the killers sacrifice you.”

 

“Sac…the hooks. That spider thing?” Give him something to work with, so he doesn’t have to go over every small detail. I can grill the more social members of the survivors later.

 

“The Entity. At least, that’s what we’re calling it,” he confirms. “Current guess is that it feeds on our souls with every sacrifice. You’ll get hooked eventually, everyone does. But do your best to avoid it anyway.”

 

“Cheerful,” I mutter before coughing, clearing away the last of my tears for the moment. I can break down later. There’s always a later.

 

“Honest,” he counters. “And that’s the best you can hope for.” With that, he’s silent for the rest of the trip, and I respect him enough to leave it be.

 

I feel that the walk doesn’t last for longer than ten or so minutes after the close of our conversation; I have no way of checking as the time on my phone seems to be glitched to 00:00. Either the Entity had set it on GMT, because I hadn’t, or it’s just another detail that’s supposed to come off as unsettling. Instead, I check to see if the timer works, curious if that’ll glitch out or actually keep track as it’s supposed to.

 

Light up ahead pulls my attention before I can start my impromptu experiment, and I can see the iconic campfire, with several figures around it. As we approach, I can identify Bill in his green uniform, Dwight wearing a button up work shirt and some dirtied slacks, Claudette with a colorful hat holding her dreadlocks back, Laurie all in blue, Ace in a suit(?), and Quentin who’s wearing mostly dark clothing like me. So that tells me that in terms of DLC and/or new killers, I’ll have Michael Meyers, Freddy Krueger, the Hag…who else…? Leatherface was introduced before Krueger. Jake mentioned Feng, so the Doctor’s gonna be a problem…

 

“Hey. Brought the new girl.” Jake states as we approach the campfire, drawing attention to us. I wave nervously at the variety of expressions that meet me. Mostly pity, worry, though Laurie and Ace send smiles my way, even if Ace comes off as a bit greasy.

 

“Oh, thanks Jake,” Dwight gives the man a nod, looking rather anxious. He fiddles with a pen, showing a decent amount of dexterity as he does so. “I suppose Meg…?”

 

“Sacrificed.” I’m guessing bluntness is a thing with Jake. “You guys give her the low down. I’m taking a walk.” He then steps away from the campfire and continues off into the forest, and I’m left on my own.

 

“Don’t mind him,” Laurie speaks up, and she gestures for me to come sit by her. “He doesn’t know how to talk to people sometimes.”

 

“W-well, I’m the same way, so I can get that,” I say, a little nervous as I sit next to the young woman. She doesn’t look entirely like the character model, but not fully like Jamie Lee Curtis had at her age either. Like a hybrid between the two, which is odd from my perspective. It also strikes me just how young she really looks; I don’t feel particularly old at 26, but if I recall correctly, Laurie got snagged by the Entity shortly after the events of the first Halloween movie. Meaning she’s, at best, 18 years old. Christ.

 

“I’m Laurie,” she introduces herself. “That’s Dwight, Ace, Quentin, Claudette, and you’ve already met Bill. The other woman in the trial with you is Meg. What’s your name?”

 

“Ah, Tanya,” I answer, calming down a tad. “Tanya Walker. I’m…26 years old, from Portland, Oregon. Was taking a break from my college before this happened.”

 

“What were you studying?” Dwight asks curiously. Claudette seems to be paying attention to the conversation, but she gets up and moves to a bag that’s laying against a nearby log. From it, she pulls a beaten up pot, some chipped, mismatched ceramic cups, and a small brown sack.

 

“Bachelors in geology,” I answer with a sigh, letting my hands rest between my knees. “Long term, I wanted to specialize in planetary geology, maybe get into NASA or the EU space program.” Then I shrug. “Long story short, took on too much at once and I burned out. I like the subject, but drove myself nuts trying to keep up with five classes at once.”

 

“Huh, another sciencey type, huh?” Ace gives the residential botanist a grin. “Looks like you got a new friend!”

 

“W-well, botany and geology aren’t the same fields,” Claudette is quick to demur as she brings a swollen sack up to the fire along with the pot, but I shake my head.

 

“No, but there is overlap,” I respond. “Soil chemistry is something both of our fields have to pay attention to, for example, and different specializations could result in a geologist pulling on botany for information, or visa versa.”

 

“That’s true,” she says with a small smile. “Maybe we could exchange notes?” The sack holds water, which she pours into the pot before hanging it over the fire. Huh, hadn’t noticed the make shift scaffold for that.

 

“Sure!” I grin. “I’ll never turn down an opportunity to nerd out!”

 

Something in Dwight seems to relax a bit, and he says, “I’m sure you have questions. Lay them out, and we’ll answer as best we can.”

 

My smile fades as I consider what to ask. Eventually, I focus on the biggest problem. “Jake mentioned an entity of some kind. And I saw _something_ with spidery legs around the hooks whenever someone was one them. What the hell is it?”

 

Looks are exchanged around the campfire before Bill speaks up while pulling out another cancer stick. “No one’s got a fucking clue. Best I can tell, it the thing that pulled us in here, as well as the killers.” He lights it; I wonder if he only smokes in this area. Otherwise it’d give the killers a scent trail to go by.

 

“It also seems to control the environment,” Dwight adds, adjusting his glasses. “But it doesn’t seem to have a complete understanding of how modern humans function, so the more updated…settings, so to speak, are usually incomplete or inaccurate somehow.”

 

“Like the generators,” I say, tugging on my braid as I think it over. “It was more like a puzzle rather than an actual machine. I have no idea how to even fix something like that in real life.”

 

“Exactly,” Dwight nods.

 

“And the…killers? Plural?” I ask.

 

“From what Bill said, you had the misfortune of goin’ up against the Nurse,” Ace now interjects. “There’s a goodly amount of them, and they’re all to a one vicious bastards.” He’s shuffling a set of cards, not even looking at what his hands are doing.

 

“Won’t be running into her again for a while yet,” Bill picks up before he takes a drag of his cig. “One goes, they can stay off the field for a while. She ain’t as active as some of the others.”

 

I start to dig around my pockets for a pen and a notepad, but while I find the pen, the notepad isn’t there. “Must be in my other coat,” I mutter as I pat myself down.

 

“Note taker?” Dwight asks, and I nod. “We might be able to scrounge up some paper for you later. We’ll just give you the highlights for now.”

 

“Alright, so the gist is that we wind up in…arenas? And we have to run around and find generators and fix them,” I go over. “Sometimes find useful items, dodge the killer of the field at the time…are there ever more than one?”

 

“No,” Claudette speaks up from next to the campfire, gazing at the flame. “Otherwise we’d never survive. I think the Entity enforces certain rules, to keep things fair. To a certain extent.”

 

“Well, at least there’s that,” I sigh. I see her checking the pot, and I ask, “Do we need to eat or drink in this place?”

 

That gets a pause from everyone as they seriously consider the question. “Uh…” Ace runs a hand through his hair, his confusion clear in both expression and voice.

 

“I don’t think we ever tested that,” Quentin speaks up for the first time, pale face thoughtful. “I know that we don’t need as much sleep.” The poor bastard has massive bags under his eyes, but considering that Krueger likes to pick on him, well. He’s got to have learned that fact the hard way.

 

“Tea?” Claudette offers me a steaming cup, and I accept. Then I smell cautiously to figure out if there’s any licorice or the like in it, but it’s fruitier than anything else.

 

“Thanks,” I say. “So, we might not need as much food or water, but no one’s tested it.”

 

“Well, to be fair, we don’t want to be anything less than our best,” Dwight points out. “Otherwise we’d be easily picked off by the killers.”

 

“True,” I acknowledge with a nod. I carefully blow at the tea to try and cool it off, and silence settles in for a few minutes as Claudette hands out more tea to the rest of the group.

 

The tea itself reminds me of a berry mix my mom had back home, though the bitter aftertaste isn’t something I’m crazy about. It is, however, the first thing I’ve had to drink since I came here, and I know that staying hydrated is important. Especially if I’m going to lose blood on a regular basis.

 

Eventually, I decide to ask another question, to get a better idea of what kind of killers I might face. “Is this everyone here? Or are there other survivors?”

 

“Four others are in the middle of a trial themselves,” Laurie says. “David King, Adam, Feng, and Nea. David Tapp---we usually just call him Tapp or Detective---and Kate are resting.”

 

“We’ve organized shifts, for lack of a better term,” Dwight explains. “If you’re at the campfire, you’re much more likely to get pulled into a trial. Being away from it leaves you the chance to rest.”

 

“If we don’t have people here, the Entity gets…irritated,” Laurie grimaces while she rubs the rim of her old cup. “It’s rare for killers to come here, but they can. And if people aren’t getting sent to the trials, then they get sent here.”

 

I slump my shoulders. “Great. Well…thanks for the heads up.”

 

So that means the whole roster is here, and that there truly isn’t any safe area within the Spider-Dick’s territory. Hrm, that’s not a good nickname. Wannabe-Lolth? Knockoff-Amygdala? I’ll have to consider it further.

 

On the downside, that means that the Clown is here. My least favorite killer. _Really_ hope I won’t run into him for a while. Urgh.

 

“Fog’s rollin’ in,” Ace states, his tone serious enough for me to look up. Sure enough, fog thick enough to give Silent Hill a run for its money is gradually creeping in from the forest.

 

I watch everyone finish off their tea and put away any distracting time they might’ve had out, and I swig mine before Laurie takes my cup. “Whoever’s not taken will do the cleanup,” she explains, her voice firm and eyes a little hard.

 

I nod, my heart in my throat as I realize that this is a signal for a new trial. And if Jake is right, I won’t get a break until I’m dead hooked. I cross my arms in an instinctively defensive posture, my fingers digging into the puffy sleeves of my coat. Going to have to ditch this again first thing next round. Everyone is silent as the fog covers us, and soon all I can see is white and the fire in front of me.


	3. Second Round

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Never saw the source material for this killer before. I’ve done research, but I’m predominantly going to draw from the game itself. If I get anything too wrong, please, let me know in the comments. Enjoy~!

When the fog clears, the first thing I see is mostly dead corn stalks. That tells me that we’re in the Thompson property, though which iteration I don’t know. I immediately empty the pockets of my coat and shuck it off, leaving it in the dirt, just like last time. I stuff everything back into my hoodie pocket, because I don’t know what might be useful.

 

I do my best to be quiet as I make my way through the artificial brush, and eventually spot the map’s iconic landmark; a collapsed silo of some kind on its side. Honestly, it always looked more like a blimp to me in the game, but that’s what it’s supposed to be.

 

Upside, it’s been quiet so far the first minute or so into the round, which means no one is getting hurt. Downside, this could mean that it could damn well be Myers in the round, which is an idea I’m not all that fond of. Or the Wraith, who I imagine is a lot scarier in real life when compared to his video game counterpart.

 

I also happen to express just how green I am to all this by damn near breaking my neck tripping over the entrance to the basement that’s hidden away in a rundown shack. My heart is in my throat, and I carefully back away from the hole in the ground. Yeah, there’s loot down there, but I am _not_ chancing that, not right now. No thank you.

 

I continue walking around, having trouble finding any generators. I’m the kind of person who can be looking for the toothpaste in the bathroom, have it right in front of me, and be completely unable to see it unless it’s pointed out to me. In more geeky terms, I’m pretty sure I’m failing my spot checks, and I’m not sure how I’m supposed to be of any help if I can’t find a single damned thing on this massive map.

 

Then I hear a high, female scream along with the roar of a chainsaw. The Hillbilly, or Leatherface. Shit.

 

I see the red outline of someone prone on the ground, and decide that if I can’t find a bloody genny, then I’ll be on hook duty. My heart rate kicks up as I carefully approach whoever is downed, and I use the terror radius of the killer to keep track of them while the survivor is carried off.

 

Unfortunately, whoever it is doesn’t get out of the killer’s grasp before they get hooked, and the scream helps me identify who it is; Claudette’s got a set of lungs on her, that’s for sure.

 

I keep back for a few seconds as the killer seems to hesitate, then moves on away from the hook. I take that as my cue to approach, and I quickly find the botanist hanging from the hook, groaning in pain.  
  
“Did you see who it was?” I ask her quietly as I wrap my arms around her middle and hoist.

 

“The…The Cannibal,” she rasps as the two of us work together to remove the hook from her shoulder. I set her down, and she brings out some scant supplies to patch the wound. “Hold this?”

 

“Sure.” I do my best to help her, which is mostly me just following her directions as she plugs the hole in her shoulder and puts some tape around her ribs. “What can you tell me about the Cannibal?”

 

“Hammer. Chainsaw. Not very fast, but decent at tracking,” she says shortly as she works. “Human skin made mask on his face, yellow butcher’s smock. Can’t miss him.”

 

“Noted.” Leatherface, great. I’ve never seen Texas Chainsaw Massacre; the only horror movie buff in my family is my younger sister, and she prefers more modern movies than the old ones.

 

Claudette straightens up, still wincing a bit, and then we both turn when we hear Dwight crying out, followed by the roar of a chainsaw. Aaaaaand he goes down.

 

“I’ll go get him,” I can’t quite keep the sigh out of my voice. “I couldn’t’ find any generators, so might as well, right?”

 

“Don’t take too many chances,” my fellow nerd reminds me sternly. “Be careful.” And with that, we split up.

 

Poor Dwight is hooked almost immediately. I can’t help but wonder if the guy might be perpetually unlucky. I have to jog a bit in order to get closer, and I slow down when the terror radius kicks in. My attempts at stealth are no good though, because Dwight’s hook is right out in the open, and I see the massive movie killer turn and look at me.

 

“Oh fuck a duck,” I hiss as Leatherface hollers, hammer raised up. I bolt, and I can hear him give chase behind me, the blood red light gradually catching up with me.

 

I spot some junk piles and pallets strewn about, and do a hair pin turn to try and use that to my advantage. For all that Leatherface is an inbred hick though, he’s got good reaction time; his cow butcher’s hammer crashes into my back, and it’s everything I can do to stay upright and running, with breathing a secondary concern.

 

Black spots hover in the corners of my vision, but I don’t stop. If I do, I’m gonna hurt a lot worse, and pain is an excellent motivator right now. Then I get a surprise rescue in the form of Ace, who chucks what looks like some firecrackers at the killer. I make sure to avoid looking back, the impromptu flashbang doing its job nicely as I put more distance between myself and Leatherface before I drop down behind a generator.

 

I spend a few precious seconds trying to remember how to breathe, my back throbbing. That blow likely cracked a couple of ribs, but I don’t feel a sharp pain when I breathe, so I don’t think they’re outright broken, small mercies. Leatherface also seems to be peeling away to go after Ace, so I glance around to see if Dwight is still on the hook. He’s in the clear, and I didn’t hear the drone or the sonic boom of the Arachnid Asshole grabbing someone, so he must’ve gotten off somehow.

 

Recon done, I decide to work on the generator I’m next to. Two people hooked and not a single one done. Not good progress. Let’s see if we can change that.

 

I get a few near misses from the generator as I almost mix up some wires and parts, but I steadily make progress on the thing while Leatherface harasses the others. In the distance, I hear his chainsaw occasionally go off, and I’m pretty sure Dwight got winged with the hammer once, but for the moment, it seems everyone is managing to stay off of the killer’s radar.

 

I pop the generator just as a second male voice cries out in pain. I look up as the terror radius gets a bit closer, just in time to see Ace go down maybe twenty feet away. Fortunately I’m hidden behind the genny, but I doubt that will last considering I had just set it off.

 

Leatherface looks between my location and Ace, who’s trying to crawl away, but the backwater murderer goes for his already downed victim first. Ace immediately begins to struggle when he’s picked up, and motions for me not to follow when I move to do exactly that.

 

I blink, but honestly, he’s the more experienced one, so I do as ordered and instead make my way elsewhere, to either find another Entity made engine or perhaps a chest.

 

I do find a fresh generator after a bit of looking, and I don’t hear Ace getting hooked when I get to work. Hm, he must’ve wriggled his way out of Leatherface’s grip. That’s good. Or he had Decisive Strike, that’s also a possibility.

 

In the distance, another gen pops. Two down, three to go.

 

Also in the distance, I hear Dwight yelp in in both pain and surprise, though I don’t see his outline collapse. Must’ve gotten winged again, poor bastard. He seems to be luckless.

 

For a few minutes, I’m able to work in peace, to the point where I actually finish this generator as well, after one explosion that almost has me heading for the hills. But off that light goes, and I feel rather pleased with myself. At least until I hear the chainsaw going off and Ace screaming as he goes down.

 

“Goddammit,” I mutter quietly, then stand up. He made the right call last time, but I’m not ditching again. Not unless he’s got a damned good reason.

 

It’s not long before he’s hooked, his aura bright and clear for all to see. I carefully move through the cornfields, and notice Claudette to my left, who’s carrying a tan colored medical kit.

 

“Should you or I get him?” I whisper to her, making her jump a little. Huh, guess I can move quietly.

 

“Oh! Uh…he might start lingering, so one of us might have to draw him off,” she replies quietly.

 

I grimace. “You’re the one with the kit, so I’ll run distraction.” I really, really don’t want to, but it’s the only rational decision.

 

“Are you sure?” she asks.

 

“No. I’m doing it anyway.”

 

Unfortunately Claudette called it; Leatherface is camping when we reach Ace, the childish maneater fiddling with his chainsaw as Ace does his best to breathe. I steel my nerves, swallow my heart back down, and step out into broad moonlight.

 

“Oi!” I bark, and Leatherface jerks in surprise. “C’mon you brute, you haven’t gotten all of us yet!”

 

Whatever else he might be, he’s dedicated to his duty as a killer for the Entity. He’s quick to heft his hammer and come my way, but I’m already running, boots crunching through dead plant matter and too-dry dirt.

 

My heart beat fades a bit, and I reckon that I may have, if not lost him, then given him a bit of a run around. I weave my way through some of the useless walls on this map, only jump high in the air when I hear the chain saw roaring in from my left.

 

The metal bite deep into my arm as I scream, and the torque of it is quick to throw me down onto the ground. I curl into a tight ball as agony overloads my senses, and I can barely remember to struggle when I’m thrown on to his shoulder.

 

Still, struggle I do, and to my surprise I see us pass a hook; or rather we pass the column, because the hook itself is down in the dirt. Someone’s been running saboteur, and that thought gives me that little extra energy I needed to keep writhing in Leatherface’s hold. That, combined with my own blood giving me some lubrication, has me dropping down onto my feet and running like there’s no tomorrow.

 

I can hear the chainsaw revving up again, but then in comes Ace, this time with a high-powered flashlight. “Ain’t got yet, bitch!” he hollers with glee, bandages wrapped around his shoulder. I take the opening given and de-ass the area, blood pounding in my ears and pouring down my arm.

 

Eventually I come to a stop near the silo, feeling a bit light-headed. Still, we need three more gens done, and I suspect one is inside. A little poking around confirms that yes, not only is there my original goal, but a chest is present as well.

 

I decide to rummage through the chest, hoping that there’s a medkit inside. I sift through rubble, old corn, some empty cans, and come up with an old, heavy, broken key.

 

I scowl at my find and slip it into the pocket of my hoody, unimpressed with my discovery. Can’t even use the bloody thing right now, I don’t have access to the Bloodweb! Urgh.

 

I then turn my attention to the generator and get to work. It’s slow going of course, and despite my best efforts the thing still blows up in my face twice. In the background, I hear a third generator light up, but that’s shortly followed by a scream and the aura of a hook.

 

Ace again. Shit.

 

I get up, leaving the generator a good three quarters the way complete, and start moving in his direction. He’s saved my ass twice, it’s only right I try to repay that. Even with my arm fucked up, I should damn well try.

 

Unfortunately for me, Leatherface is camping again. Ace’s voice is strangled as he tries to keep the Entity from skewering him alive; the spidery legs have a dull red shine to them, and the appendages themselves seem to come from small, shadowy portals that have opened up all along the hook’s column.

 

I’m trying to figure out how to get Ace down when I spot Dwight peeking up from the other side of a junk pile. We make eye contact, and he points to himself, then the killer. I nod, and point to myself, then Ace. He returns the nod. Plan made.

 

“Hey! Over here!” Dwight yells, waving a tool box up. “I’m the one messing with the hooks! Come and get me!” Huh, I wondered who was playing sabo this round.

 

That’s all the provocation that the Cannibal needs, and the two are off in another chase. As soon as they’re out of sight, I scramble over to the gambler and rasp out, “Grabbing you around the middle to get you off, can’t lift normal with my arm like this.”

 

“Th-that’s fine!” Ace grits out from clenched teeth. He’s not the only one as I force my left arm as well as my right to wrap around his body and lift; I can’t stop the whimper of pain from coming out, but I give the man enough leverage to get the hook out of his shoulder with a grinding squelch.

 

I drop him immediately with a groan, and we both just take a second to cope with the extreme pain we’re in. Ace recovers first, since he’s a bit more used to this level of abuse, and motions for me to follow him. I’m not too graceful about it, but I do, and as soon as we’re bunkered down behind a junk pile, we start trying to treat each other.

 

Ace has a few supplies on hand, but I’ve got nothing but the stuff in my pockets and the shirt on my back. Eventually he snags what looks like a hand made shiv and starts to carefully cut away the sleeve of my sweater. Must be his tool for the Decisive Strike action. It works, and we use the sleeve to patch his shoulder, while he carefully stitches the worst areas on my arm.

 

It hurts like a bitch, and I have trouble staying quiet. But still, I force my voice to work as I croak, “Thanks. For helping me.”

 

“Hey, you saved my bacon, I save yours,” he flashes me a quick smile. “Gotta work together to stay alive.”

 

Some distance away, a fourth generator goes off. One more to go, and then we just need the doors open.

 

“Found a key I see,” he says as he finishes his stitching. “Well, broken one won’t do you much good for a while. Need attachments if you’re gonna get anything out of it.”

 

“You can have it if it’s useful,” I tell him, but he shakes his head.

 

“Nah. Keep it. You’ll find somethin’ good for it.” He stands up, and I follow, if shakily. “Right, so that’s one genny left. Let’s get crackin’.”

 

I nod. “See you in a bit.” A cheerful wave from the gambler is his own farewell before we split the party.

 

Off to hunt down the last generator, or for an item that’s more useful than a broken key. If I remember right, I need add-ons before I can actually use it, but seeing as I don’t seem to have access to the Bloodweb or anything resembling that---hm, something to ask the others once we get out of this map.

 

My search isn’t going well however, and my heart beat’s rate begins to increase. My arm throbs in time with the pulse, and I try not to curse as I crouch in the middle of some corn, hoping that Leatherface will just pass on. No such luck; he comes in from my right, and I just dodge a hammer to the face before I book it across the field, hoping to hop through a window into the nearby shack and gain some space.

 

I get through the window alright, but I made the mistake of not looking down. Additionally, I underestimate the killer’s speed. Below the window is the entrance to the basement I had discovered earlier, and I yelp as I fall further than expected before impacting against the stairs, knocking the wind out of my body. I roll a few feet before coming to a rest on the first landing, groaning as my left arm shrieks at the pressure I put on it. Then I get hauled up by Leatherface, and I’m still too stunned to really struggle before he puts me on the hook.

 

The Nurse’s telekinetic grasp was almost gentle compared to how carelessly the chainsaw wielder throws me on to the damned thing. The metal scrapes harshly across a rib and my shoulder blade, and the pain has me forgetting how to breathe for several painfully long moments.

 

I’m not sure if screaming will help the others figure out where I am. I’m not certain if they’ll risk coming down. Dwight and Ace are dead hook if they do. Claudette is close. It wouldn’t be unreasonable to leave me hanging to buy time to finish the last gen and get the doors open.

 

I’m aware of my heart calming down some, so I guess Leatherface decided not to stick around this time. Maybe he sees me as easy prey because I’m new. Who knows. But it might give others an opening.

 

I hang there for what feels like minutes, watching the arms of the Entity gradually begin to burn into existence. The hook in my shoulder is beginning to feel warm, though I don’t know if it’s because of my body heat transferring to the metal, or if I’m running out of time here.

 

Then I hear rapid footsteps down the stairs, and I look up to see Dwight. No words are exchanged as he comes right up to unhook me, but going by the way my heart beat is kicking up, Leatherface is on his way. He manages to get me down with a heave and grunt, but then the roaring of a chainsaw has the two of us scattering before the Cannibal.

 

Despite our best efforts, the basement is a closed in space and Leatherface’s wild swinging of the chainsaw covers a lot of area. Dwight gets winged across one leg, and I get slashed across the back as I tried to go for the stairs. I’m gasping on the floor, but I try to crawl up, because if I get on that hook again, I’m probably dead.

 

Then above, the loud CLANK of an activating generator. This is followed shortly by Claudette coming around the corner, who grabs me by my sweater and throws my left arm around her shoulder before hauling me up the stairs.

 

Down below, I hear Dwight cry out as he’s placed on the hook, followed by the awful sound of flesh punctured forcibly and a cut off gurgle.

 

We’re forced to come to a stop not too far from the entrance, but Leatherface seems to have failed his spot check; he heads elsewhere while the botanist puts me down and begins to immediately pack my shoulder with what she has.

 

“Can you run?” she asks me, her breathe unsteady where her hands are rock solid.

 

“I damn well better,” I rasp, and she hum in assent.

 

“Ace is opening the far gate that way,” she points to my right. “The closer one is this way.”

 

Behind us, where Leatherface went.

 

“Where do you think we should go?” I cough, forcing myself to stand up as soon as she’s finished. I sway in place for a few seconds, but I widen my stance and force myself to focus on Claudette.

 

“It’s a gamble,” she admits after a moment’s thought. “But once he sees that the closer gate is closed, he’ll head for Ace’s gate. By the time we get to the first one, he should be gone.”

 

“Let’s do it then,” I say. “I’m not sure how long I can stay upright.”

 

She nods, and then we both head for the gate at a quick walking pace. No need to give Leatherface any more tracks than the blood I’m leaving behind.

 

Sure enough, the maneater’s nowhere in sight when we get to our destination, and Claudette pulls the lever down to start the process of getting the thing open. Then I hear the distinctive ring of the ‘exit’ sound that indicates that Ace got away. Well, no perfect win for the killer.

 

I wince at the loud clunks and whines of the activating machinery; no progress bar to tell me how far along it all is, so we’re both left to wait in high tension as more and more noise is generated.

 

Then there’s the low grumble of a chainsaw’s engine, and we both exchange a panicked look as Leatherface approaches. At the same time, the door gives a honk in alarm, and the metal parts away; neither of us hesitate as we bolt through the door. He howls behind us and revs up the chainsaw, but we’ve got the advantage. I can smell the exhaust when we hit the last pillars that indicate the edge of the map, and I hear the Entity’s barrier blaze up in place behind us. Not a moment too late either, if the ear-piercing sound of chainsaw teeth grinding against it is any indication.

 

I survived my second trial. One man lost, and myself heavily injured, but I made it. I wonder how long I can keep this up.


	4. A Touch of Rest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We get to meet more survivors this time! Not going to try to write David’s accent, just so y’all know. I’d butcher that horribly.

Once more, the transition period between the killer’s arena and the space between trials is fuzzy. I can’t say when I shifted from one to the other, but that’s because I was more focused on staying upright instead of faceplanting into the dirt below me. As Claudette and I continue on though, more and more of my strength returns. My shoulder stops screaming and lessens down to an angry ache. The brutal slashes I’d taken from the chainsaw start itching furiously, but that’s still better than the pain. Even my ribs improve from the blow they’d tanked from Leatherface’s hammer, and my breath comes to me in a more even manner.

 

I still feel a tad light headed, but compared to my state a few minutes ago, it’s still a hell of an improvement.

 

“How’re you doing?” I pant as we gradually slow down to a steady walk, trees thick around the two of us.

 

“Better,” Claudette answers, picking away at some dried blood on her jacket. “I should be OK with a little rest. You?”

 

“Sore as hell, but better than I’d been,” I admit with a grimace. I shift my shoulder again, and give a grumpy noise at the nerves that fire there. “Thirsty too.”

 

“We’ll get some water in you,” the botanist promises, patting me on the shoulder. Like last time, my coat is back on despite my leaving it behind in the Thompson property. “And some food, before the Entity rushes you back in.”

 

“I’m calling it the Arachnid Asshole, by the way,” I say to her, and snicker when she chokes in surprise. “Oh come on, don’t tell me you all haven’t come up with insulting nicknames for everything here.”

 

“I, well,” she stammers, shifting her glasses a bit. Her skin’s too dark for me to see if she’s flushing, but the reluctant smile is reward enough for me.

 

“Terrible nicknames is the new subject now!” I declare with a grin, and she covers her mouth with a hand, shaking her head.

 

“I’m not doing this,” she says as she picks up her walking pace.

 

“Oh come on, it’ll be fun!” I needle her, trotting after the Canadian cheerfully. “The Nurse can be Pillowtalk, for example!”

 

That gets me a full bodied snort before Claudette whirls around and points at me. “You are not saying anything like that in a trial.” Her stern tone is ruined by the twitching of her lips as she tries not to smile.

 

“’Course not!” I exclaim, spreading my arms out wide. “I’m stubborn, not suicidal!”

 

She groans, pulling her hat down a little. “You’ve already hung out too much with Ace,” she sighs and turns around to continue walking.

 

“Nah, I’m just trying to think of positive things,” I admit with a shrug as I follow her. “Otherwise I might get snagged by that oversized spider in the middle of a total breakdown. That wouldn’t end well for anyone.”

 

She hums thoughtfully. “It’s not the best coping mechanism, but then, I don’t think the rest of us have room to talk.”

 

I sigh and stick my hands into my pockets. “Anyway…” I then make contact with the broken key I’d found in the old silo, then pull it out. “Say, Ace said that this could be useful with additions? What’s he talking about?”

 

“Oh! Whole keys can be used to open the escape hatch for about…half a minute, I think,” she says after doing some mental math. “But they can also reveal the outlines of both survivors and killers. You need accessories with it though in order to get any use out of broken keys. You can get those predominantly through the altar.”

 

I frown slightly. “Altar?” That’s new.

 

She nods, her expression serious as she explains, “There’s an altar some distance away from the campfire. By giving some blood to the bowl, you can get items, accessories for the items, and powers that will give you an edge in the trials.”

 

I blink and tilt my head a little as I consider this twist to the Bloodweb. “Powers? Like what?”

 

“Enhancement to the aura sight for one,” she answers as we move over a fallen log. “Sometimes you’re allowed to bring an extra tool. Ace brought a sharp object that he can use incase a killer grabs him.”

 

“That shiv?” I confirm, and I get a nod in answer.

 

“Your new, so I don’t know if you can actually use the altar yet,” she admits with some reluctance. “Laurie couldn’t until she was finally sacrificed.”

 

“How many rounds did she go through?” I can’t help but want to know.

 

“Five trials. Myers just wound up focusing on her the whole time, he’d only killed one other person during that trial.” I wonder if she went through that mess, because just talking about it makes her sound tired.

 

“Christ,” I breathe. Guess Laurie’s earned her memetic badass status here, and then some.

 

It’s silent for some time before a need strikes me, and I clear my throat awkwardly. “Uh, what do you all do for restroom requirements?”

 

Claudette looks over to me, confused, then realizes what I’m talking about. “ _Oh_. When we’re in sight of the camp, I’ll show you the outhouse.”

 

Well, I knew it couldn’t be that refined. At least I don’t have to shit in the woods like a bear.

 

The glow of orange is in sight before I’m diverted to a simple, one man cabin. I open it, expecting the stench of human effluvia, but outside of the slight stink of stale urine, it’s surprisingly clean. A wood seat with a hole is all there is, and I’m quick to use it. I wonder if they have chemicals to break down the waste…?

 

My curiosity gets the better of me, and after I finish my business, I pull out my phone and turn on the light. (Dammit, forgot to use the thing during the trial! Moron!) I look down the toilet, and see---nothing?

 

There’s literally nothing but a black hole down there. Maybe three feet of earth going down, but I can’t see the bottom. Just black.

 

I use a bit of the rubbing alcohol to disinfect my hands that’s on a shelf, then step out. “Why is there a hole to the abyss in the toilet?” I ask, a bit disconcerted.

 

“Um,” Claudette shifts in place, hesitant to answer. “Are you sure you want to know?”

 

My flat stare has her explaining quickly. “There’s only about a meter of dirt or stone anywhere in this space. Go past it, and there’s nothing but, well, that,” she motions towards the outhouse. “Below. We don’t know what’s down there, but it’s the cleanest way to dispose of waste as far as we can tell.”

 

“So,” I stretch out the word. “We’re all hovering over the abyss. With only a small barrier of dirt preventing us from falling into the eternal darkness.”

 

The Canadian nods silently.

 

I shrug. “Welp, probably the closest I’ll get to space travel. Question answered.”

 

Claudette pinches the bridge of her nose at my blasé reaction. “And I thought Americans couldn’t get any stranger,” she mutters under her breath. I just snort in response as we head back to base.

 

Finally, we reach the campfire. Quentin is sitting on one log, writing carefully into a beaten-up journal. Bill is gone, and in his place is David King, who’s rolling his shoulder before he picks up a spoon that’s in a new pot which is hanging over the fire. Laurie’s also missing, but Jake is back, sorting through a tool box and carefully checking over his arsenal. Finally, there’s Feng Min doing a set of stretches, her expression a mixture of boredom and impatience.

 

“We’re back,” Claudette announces softly, which has the others looking at us.

 

Jake scans Claudette, then gives me a quicker once over before going back to his task.

 

“This the new girl?” Feng seems a little more engaged now, her eyes focused on me. Her intensity is a tad unsettling, but considering her history I’m not too surprised by it.

 

“Tanya,” I say with a nod. “Uh, Dwight didn’t make it. Ace got through alright though. We got the Cannibal.”

 

“Yuck,” the gamer makes a face, tugging her jacket a bit closer. “Hate that guy. He’s gross.”

 

“Agreed,” I sigh. Then I look to David and ask, “What’s cookin’?”

 

“Not sure,” he admits in his heavy British accent, which has me raising an eyebrow. “Think we’ve sort of given up on tryin’ to figure out what’s in these ruddy cans.”

 

“Cans?” I tilt my head to one side. Where in the nine hells would they get canned food?

 

“Gas Heaven,” Jake says. “Has canned food and some alcohol, along with the occasional soda. We take some when we can afford to.”

 

“Wait, slow down,” I shake my head, sitting down next to Quentin. “Where’s Gas Heaven? What is Gas Heaven?”

 

“It’s one of several locations that’s placed within the auto wrecker’s yard,” the insomniac answers while writing. “We can move between these maps, so to speak, between trials. If it’s transportable, we can take it as with us, but there’s still some risk involved.”

 

“We went to get some cleaning supplies from the preschool,” Claudette brings up as she fetches a variety of bowls. “David, Nea, and myself. Only the Huntress came in just a little bit later, and we wound up in an impromptu trial.”

 

David snorts, a smirk crossing his face. “That was fun.”

 

The botanist’s stare in response is very, very flat. “I did not enjoy stitching you back together after taking three of her hatchets. Which you deliberately took.”

 

“Hey, she was a good sport about it!” he exclaims with a grin. “No one died that round!”

Claudette gives a long suffering sigh, and I stifle the smile that tries to come up as the two bicker. Even with the amicable argument going on, they start dolling out food; Quentin gets a dull porcelain bowl, and I give a nod of thanks when I receive a blue plastic dish full of food.

 

“Tools we might take still go missing from time to time,” Quentin explains as I turn to him for more information. “Probably the Entity noticing that something’s not the way it’s supposed to be, and it essentially hits a minor reset button. At least,” he looks away, looking a bit sheepish at having spoken so long. “That’s my guess.”

 

“What, not a hypothesis?” Ace’s voice cuts in, and he waltzes into the clearing, casual as you please. “And you all start dinner without me! How could you?”

 

“A hypothesis is something that can be tested,” I say with a smile. “Unfortunately, I have no idea how one would test to see if it’s the spider in the sky that’s making off with silverware.”

 

“Well, whatever. Just means we do a fetch quest,” Feng waves a hand dismissively. “That’s not news.” Her bowl is made of slightly dented metal, and I wonder where they made all these raids to get this stuff. A good mental exercise for later. “Hey, David, spoons?”

 

“Missin’,” he replies without pause. “So yer all goin’ to have to get creative.”

 

A lull in the conversation settles in as everyone does their best to eat the stew without spoons. I drink most of the broth, then wind up tilting the bowl back a bit so I can get the bits of meat and grain without making too much of a mess. The food is a welcome boost, and the warmth has me almost dozing in place despite the next trial surely being on its way.

 

Not even the conversation kicking back up is enough to really rouse me, and it seems that everyone’s content to let me rest. I don’t dream, not getting that far into my sleep cycle, but when someone shakes my shoulder, I feel better as I straighten myself.

 

“Next trial,” Quentin murmurs to me, and sure enough, the fog is rolling in. I move my glasses so I can rub at my eyes, then replace them as I stand. Everyone else is grim faced save for Feng, who looks to be both apprehensive and excited. Hoh boy. Adrenaline junkie.

 

I lose sight of the others as we’re all drowned in white fog, and I take a deep breath as I’m whisked off for the next run against a Killer.


	5. Third Attempt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good news, new chapter. Bad news, I'm running out of buffer, so this will be the last one for at least two weeks until I build up a couple more chapters so I don't stress over deadlines. Hope you all like the chapter.

White bleeds away to a soupy green area, and I find myself surrounded by old, decaying cars that show no doors or real functioning aspects. Autowrecker’s Haven. The Wraith’s territory.

 

Mrgh. The thought of stealth killers makes me nervous, and I do my new regular action of shucking my coat before moving on to track down a generator. Lucky me, it winds up being fairly close by, which means I get to work in short order.

 

Sort the wires by colors and try to untangle that particular mess. Slide a few pieces in place, which click in a satisfactory manner. Plug in a few wires, the brighter colors before trying to figure out which dark color goes to which slot---

 

I shriek as something grabs me by the hood of my sweater and yanks me onto my back, my heart suddenly in my throat. Looming above me like a particularly grim specter is the Wraith, his bell hooked to his belt and bladed, skull topped scepter in one hand.

 

I can feel the blood drain from my face even as I try to scramble away, but the Wraith hauls me up by my sweater and easily hoists me onto his wiry shoulder. As I’m not injured, I can put up much more of a struggle in my attempts to get out of his grasp. Despite how scrawny the killer appears to be though, his hold is firm, and I have the ill luck of being fairly close to a hook.

 

The Wraith isn’t as careless as Leatherface when he picks me up off his shoulder, but he’s not as meticulous as the Nurse. I learn this the hard way while sharp metal slides into the meat of my shoulder. It’s easy for me to scream in pain now due to this being my only wound, and I can only hope the others won’t be pissed at me for being hooked this early.

 

But how didn’t I notice him coming up from behind me? I consider this question as the Wraith gives me one long look before he pulls his bell from his belt and knocks the skull of his weapon against it. Instead of that distinctive ‘bing-bong’ so well known from the game, the bell is utterly silent. He fades from sight, only a vague outline visible as he walks off.

 

Fuck. The ultra-rare add on for his bell. I don’t remember its name, but I do recall that it lets him use the bell without announcing his presence. Son of a bitch.

 

I do my best to breathe steadily while I hang there, the burning pain in my shoulder relatively familiar now. I can see someone at work, either a hook or generator. They aren’t moving right now, so no help there. Another, smaller frame doing the same thing. One’s moving towards me though, so I try to be patient even as insectile legs creep into existence around me.

 

The person coming to my rescue turns out to be Quentin, not that I’m going to complain. He looks around quickly, then in a smooth and efficient motion, pulls me up and off the hook.

 

He ushers me to follow, and I do so without hesitation. My shoulder’s fucked, but my legs are still good and I make use of that as we put some distance from the hook. We hide near a particularly rusty car as Quentin whispers, “Who is it?”

 

“Glowing eyes, skull scepter, bell, invisible,” I rattle off quickly as he gets to work on my shoulder. “The bell’s muffled. I watched him hit it, but there wasn’t any sound.”

 

“The Wraith. Not good,” he mutters. I’m a little worried just how practiced he is at the medical treatment, even with relatively minimal supplies. It speaks of an unfortunate amount of experience. “Not the worst, but not good.” It takes maybe a minute for him to fully patch me up. “Listen for the sound of something burning. That’s when he cloaks, or decloaks.”

 

Shit, that’s right, there’s a second auditory cue for when he pulls a Predator. I’d forgotten about that, and it’s bitten me in the ass. Or the shoulder, as it were.

 

“Got it,” I say with a nod.

 

Then the both of us look up when we hear a feminine scream echo out through the wreckage.

 

“Feng,” Quentin identifies. “I’ll play distraction, you work on generators.”

 

“OK. See ya,” I acknowledge, and we quickly part ways.

 

I’m a lot more nervous to be on my own with the Wraith capable of going full stealth mode, but we need to get shit done; not one generator finished and we have one person hooked and another one on the way. Not a promising start at all.

 

It takes a minute or so, but I do eventually find another generator, this one partially worked on. Maybe a quarter of the way through? The general lighting of this area is less punishing than the Thompson property or the Nurse’s Asylum, so I have an easier time doing the puzzle section, thank goodness.

 

At least until one part slips and the whole thing blows up in my face. I look around, keeping a careful watch for any shimmering of the air that indicates movement from the Wraith, but after a few seconds, nothing. I also notice that Feng hasn’t been hooked yet, so hopefully that means she’s gotten away.

 

With no sign of the killer around, I get to back to work, deciding it’s worth the risk to stick around if I can complete this thing. It seems I’ve made the right call; the pieces eventually fall into place, and the flood lights shine like it’s Christmas Day.

 

I take that as my cue to beat feet and get myself elsewhere, because there’s always a chance the Wraith will decide to investigate.

 

I’m left wandering for a time as I search for either another genny or a chest with something more useful than a broken key. A medkit or even a flashlight would be welcome, since I remember that the Wraith is one of the killers who’s most vulnerable to Lightburn. Well, if he’s got the requisite perks on of course.

 

After a minute or two of searching, I stumble across a chest hidden in a shack. One last check around in order to make sure I’m not being stalked by the killer, and I push open the lid so I can start digging.

 

Scrap sheets of metal, broken power tools, wires---why the hell is there a vertebra in here?! Oh, right, this place had been a gangster’s execution ground before the Wraith found out and offed his boss; finding out you’d been an unwitting murderer when all you wanted to do was make an honest living would make a lot of people snap. Christ.

 

I move a few more power tools and what might’ve been a rib bone before I make the jackpot. A firecracker. Bringing it up closer for examination, I find a cord that can be pulled, which is likely the ignition source. Fuck yes, perfect distraction fodder for the Wraith.

 

A cry of pain has me looking up. Male, but not Jake. Dammit, Quentin got hit. No outline yet, so he must be on the run.

 

I keep my head down as I feel my heart rate kick up a notch when the two pass by me, but I seem to get by unnoticed. I’m not confident enough to actually draw the killer’s attention while he’s actively on someone’s tail, but I _will_ go for Quentin if he gets downed.

 

Shortly after that I stumble across a generator, almost literally. I keep an ear out, but the injured survivor doesn’t go down or otherwise cry out, so I think he’s gotten away successfully. I open a hatch and start untangling wires, actively making sure that I don’t mutter under my breath while I work.

 

A minute or two into this, and I start when Jake’s yell of fright rings out, which makes the generator back fire as I slip up. “Fuck!” I hiss, covering my face when sparks fly, but I don’t pull away. We still have four gennies to go, and I’d like to get out sooner rather than later.

 

It seems to be the right call, because I don’t see Jake getting hooked. I also hear an explosion elsewhere, so I’m apparently not the only one that’s screwing up with the mechanics.

 

I make some more progress, then damn near jump out of my skin when I hear the burning rush of the Wraith’s cloaking giving way behind me. Before I can leap off the generator and bolt though, I’m grabbed by my hood again and yanked back, chocking a bit as my sweater presses against my throat.

 

Fuck’s sake, this is the second time he’s grabbed me like this! Why the hell do I keep getting tunnel vision?! I try to kick him in his rather twiggy leg when he goes to pick me up, but he easily side steps the attempt and I’m hoisted onto his shoulder again.

 

As I thrash about, a second generator lights up. Well, at least I’ll buy the others time, I think morosely right before he puts me on a hook, the metal sliding into the pre-made hole.

 

I howl, the wound having gone from throbbing ache to shrieking agony all over again. The Wraith tilts his head, eying me for a moment, then vanishes from sight as the Entity manifests around me, greedy to end the trial for me.

 

I catch the claw that tries to impale me through the middle, grunting as I grit my teeth against the pain and hold off the end for a little while longer. The limb comes awful close to my sternum, what with my dominant arm fucked up, but I think I can hold off long enough for someone to get me.

 

That someone winds up being Feng, who looks pretty frustrated. “The only reason I’m not giving you shit is because the Wraith is hacked right now,” she tells me as she pulls me down from the hook much the same way I do others. Makes sense, her frame makes the under arm lift a little unfeasible.

 

I groan as I drop to my feet, pressing a hand against the bleeding hole. “Take it easy on the newb, will ya?” I rasp out, and she snorts in return.

 

“If the killer won’t go easy, then neither will I,” she counters. “Get going, I’m shit for medical. Give me machines any day.”

 

“Don’t get caught,” I tell her, unable to resist needling the gamer a little.

 

“Like you did?” she snarks back, and I sigh, moving away from the hook that damn near killed me.

 

Another generator goes off, and I consider heading that way before deciding otherwise. 2 down, 3 to go, and the Wraith hasn’t killed anyone yet. He’s likely going to kick it up a notch.

 

Still, that leaves me bleeding and on the move trying to dodge against a killer who specializes in stealth and tracking, and here I am leaving a rather obvious trail behind me. Goddamn shitty luck of the draw giving me a killer who’s using a fucking ultra-rare addon. Asshole.

 

I eventually stumble across a generator, partially complete this time. A third of the way through if I had to guess, and I crouch down to get better access to the innards of the machine.

 

I nearly fumble a couple of times, then pull away when I hear Jake scream in the distance. I look up to see him hooked, about half way across the map if I had to guess. Not the basement though, small mercies, so I get up and start making my way over to him carefully.

 

I’m extra vigilant as I approach, keeping an eye for the Wraith’s blurred outline. I never realized just how difficult it’d be to gauge the location of a killer without the terror radius, especially since the game seems to give you more options for keeping a look out.

 

I poke my head around a almost whole car to see Jake gripping a particularly hairy claw, his legs up as he tries to keep the damned thing from gouging out his throat. There’s no sign of the killer either, but if he’s staying still, I wouldn’t be able to see him anyway.

 

I pull out the firecracker with one hand and step out of cover. Jake notices me and grits out, “Clear,” behind clenched teeth.

 

With that said, I move forward and lift him, and we work together to get him down, the eldritch limbs vanishing quickly. It’s harder with my shoulder being ventilated, so I drop him quickly before the pain becomes completed unbearable.

 

“Hold this,” the former heir orders, giving me his toolkit while he pulls out some basic medical supplies. Like Quentin, he’s quick to treat himself, then takes the tool box from my hands before he salvages the left-over bandages around my own shoulder to patch me up.

 

“Thanks,” I whisper as the blood is eventually plugged from leaking down my right arm.

 

He grunts in reply, then stands. “Alright, let’s---MOVE!”

 

I don’t hesitate to obey, and we both manage to dodge the swing of the Wraith’s bladed scepter. I go right, Jake goes left, and the bloody light peels off from behind me. My heart is still in my throat though, and I don’t feel much better when a fourth light goes off.

 

I slow down and bunker down in a shack, spending a moment to regulate my breathing some. Christ that scared the shit out of me. If it wasn’t for Jake’s warning, that would’ve cleaved through my left shoulder.

 

I grip the firecracker, irritated that I forgot to use it. Would be nice to get back at the killer, just once, but I shouldn’t take chances. I’m still new at this, and I just want to survive. Survive, do my best to get the others out, and get out myself.

 

I wince as Jake hollers again, his red outline visible in short order. I see him get picked up, and head right back over to try and stun the Wraith before he dead hooks the survivor.

 

I get there too late however. Jake doesn’t scream as the Entity stabs him once, twice, thrice. His lungs are in too bad a shape to do that. He gurgles, a wet sound as blood pools around the new wounds, before his form fades a bit as he’s plucked off the hook and dragged up into a smoky, droning portal.

 

Then I realize that the Wraith is still there as he turns to stare at me. With the firecracker in hand and heart in my throat, I aim it at him before yanking the cord.

 

It goes off without a hitch, and the killer snarls as he covers his face. My ears ring a bit from being so close, but I take the advantage given to me, drop the smoking tube, and bolt.

 

The stun seems to have worked. I hide near a pile of scrap metal for a time, and nothing happens. In the distance, the fourth generator goes off, and Quentin shouts.

 

…I wasted the firecracker, didn’t I. Fuck.

 

The involuntary insomniac goes down, and now I have to make a choice. Do I go for him and hope that Feng finishes the last genny? Or do I look for one, try to finish it, and hope that Feng snags him if he’s hooked?

 

The second option leaves a bad taste in my mouth, so despite my stupid waste of excellent diversion material, I follow the direction of his scream. Maybe during the down time after this I can ask the others what the underlying rules are covering situations like this, but for now, I’ll try to be as altruistic as I’m able.

 

I find Quentin shortly after he’s hooked, and I peer carefully around an old oil barrel even as the poor guy groans in pain. He doesn’t look at me directly. In fact, he looks way to my left, and shakes his head minutely. I squint to see if the Wraith is lingering about, but I can’t find any sign of him.

 

I’ll have to trust him on this that the killer is camping in some form, and with reluctance back off. I hate leaving him like this, but if he’s right, then he’s being used as bait to potentially lure Feng or I here.

 

I keep low as I attempt to find another generator, one that’s hopefully closer to complete than not. Fortunately I find that’s no longer necessary as the final generator goes off, the exit doors lighting up to my sight for a few seconds. I redirect my path to follow the closest one, hoping to get it open as quickly as possible.

 

To my distant right, Quentin’s still form suddenly moves, then vanishes. There’s no sign of the Entity accompanying this either, so I can’t help but wonder if either Feng got him down, or if he actually unhooked himself. If he managed to four percent that, I’ll be very impressed.

 

I shake my head and get myself back on track. Switch, open door, then fucking bail. There’s been way too many close calls this round for me to want to linger over long here.

 

A few seconds later, the gate is in sight, and I don’t hesitate to reach for the switch. Instead of grabbing it though, my hand runs into…something flat and warm? With cloth?

 

I back pedal, my blood running cold when the air shimmers in front of me. It’s with little fanfare that the Wraith uncloaks, and I spin on my heel in order to _run_.

 

I hear the rattle of his scepter cutting through the air behind me, which is more than enough incentive for me to keep my ass moving. The red light that tracks the killer’s gaze for us survivors remains close behind however, and that means I need to start the bob and weave routine, or he’ll overtake me.

 

I take a hard left, spotting an already downed pallet. I jump and launch off it, giving myself a near full second of air time before I stumble to the ground. My heart is still in my throat, so I continue my scramble to escape.

 

I can’t remember where the second door is. _Shit_. How the hell am I supposed to get away?

 

I find one of those pointless walls with a window in them. I take advantage of the opening and vault through; behind me the Wraith’s weapon snags on my braid, and I shout in pain as my head snaps back from the sudden pull.

 

It’s not quite enough to destabilize me, but it _is_ enough for him to swing a second time. Before I can dodge, I can feel the blades of his scepter bite deep into my side, much further than they should’ve been able to, and I fall without a sound. I can’t scream, not with blood pouring out and the pain near paralyzing.

 

Fuck. No One Escapes Death. Oh that cheating son of a bitch.

 

I lay face first into the grass, curling up into a ball while my right arm presses into my wound, a futile attempt to stem the blood flow. I’m not sure, but I think he might’ve gotten my kidney. If that’s the case, I probably won’t last long enough for him to hook me.

 

A whimper escapes me as a long fingered hand grabs my right shoulder and turns me over. The one thing I’ll say about him is that he didn’t put weight on my injured side. I blink away tears, trying to clear my vision. Confusion crosses the haze of pain as I see the Wraith crouched over me.

 

He tilts his head a little, his expression inscrutable. Glowing eyes meet mine for a moment, and what almost sounds like a sigh passes through his lips.

 

Then he straightens up and flips his scepter so that the base of the skill faces the ground. I watch, barely able to comprehend as he raises the weapon high over his head with both hands.

 

Barely. It’s ineffectual, but I cover my face with my forearms anyway, unable to choke back the sob of fear right before Azarov’s skull crashes into my impromptu shield.

 

I scream when I feel my right radius and ulna break, the snap loud in my ears as my arms are smashed into my face. Then my left arm, the pain leaving me breathless. Thought that might’ve also been my nose giving under the force.

 

My vision goes white as an impact meets my head, before everything mercifully turns to black.


	6. Interlude α – Philip Ojomo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy holidays! You get two updates today, so make sure to read part 6 first, which is an interlude.

The fog is quick to roll in after the dreamwalker escapes; two sacrificed, one dead. The Spider maybe displeased with his choice of victim, but by the very rules it has created, it cannot punish him, not for the moment.

 

He is not happy with the result.  He hasn’t been happy in a long time. But this will grant him a reprieve from the master of this realm, and that, he welcomes. Even if the lack of four kills means he won’t have his tongue back for a time.

 

The mist fades quickly as he walks, and he comes to a now familiar sight. Like the survivors, the other side of this conflict also has their own campfire. Some linger, others wander. All know when the Entity seeks their service and will approach when called. Otherwise, to be near the fire is to welcome the company of others.

 

“How was the hunt?” Philip glances at Evan, who is carefully cleaning and tweaking a set of traps.

 

Philip shrugs in reply before seating himself on a nearby log. He removes a cloth from his belt and begins the process of maintenance himself. The Spider will ensure that his weapon suffers no true damage, but the smell of coagulating blood is unpleasant, and he has enough reminders of his grisly work as it is.

 

On the other side of the fire, Max motions to draw his attention. Then, in the sign language that Carter has taught the both of them, asks, “Did the new one show up?”

 

Philip nods, and Max presses for more information, his body language expressing his curiosity.

 

“Was she any good? Sally didn’t say anything, she’s feeling down again.”

 

He considers the question as he sets aside the cloth to be cleaned later and brings out a set of needle point tweezers. The girl’s skull had fragmented during the process of the Memento Mori, and a few pieces have been lodged between the vertebrae of Azarov’s spine. Best to get that, and any brain matter as well, out as soon as he can.

 

He rests his weapon across his legs and signs to Max, “Her observational skills need work. I think she gets tunnel vision when focusing on something.”

 

“Like I do when I’m working on my saw?” the younger killer confirms, and Philip nods.

 

“Well, at least that’s something,” Evan says aloud, finishing with a set of traps. “It makes the short term easier, but the plan…” He grunts, not following through with the thought.

 

Still, Philip knows what he’s thinking. It had already been difficult to bring in a survivor that matched the qualifications they’d been looking for. The plan _does_ have a margin of error, but not by much. This is a chancy endeavor.

 

For now, he lets the concept rest and turns his attention back to his original task. The skull fragments won’t remove themselves after all. 


	7. Debates

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is part two of a double update this week, so make sure to read the interlude first! Hope you all enjoy.

I wake up, and immediately wish I hadn’t. My head throbs with every heartbeat, teeth included. Christ this has to be the…no, it’s the second worst headache I’ve had. The migraine from ’15 still trumps that, if only because I’m not actually nauseous.

 

I don’t know how long I just lay there suffering, but my memory eventually pokes at my survival instincts. Right. I’d gotten Mori’d by the Wraith. Dammit. So I’m out of the match, and---yep. Back in the forest.

 

I groan as I turn over, bracing my hands against the loamy earth and push myself up on all fours. I pause to let my blood pressure equalize a little; even that small but of activity has my head screaming in renewed pain. Fuck. Getting back to the campfire is going to be an absolute bitch and a half.

 

Eventually, I shuffle up next to a tree and use that as a prop to get myself back onto my feet. I take a minute or two to get used to being upright again, and don’t look directly at the full moon glaring down at me. The light makes my eyes ache, but not too bad compared to the hall of carousing dwarves in my head. And my vision seems to be fine as I squint at my surroundings. No seeing double, no blurring past my usual near-sightedness. Still, should probably ask for a concussion check once I get back to camp. And any other side effects that might come with being temporarily dead.

 

Don’t linger on that thought. Not until I get a little down time.

 

I choose a random direction and start shuffling. Not walking, I’m hurting too much for that kind of movement. I honestly have no idea if I’m going the right way, or if there’s actually a wrong way to go. I don’t dwell on that right now. I just keep moving.

 

I’m so focused on keeping my feet under me that I don’t notice a person crossing my path until a hand meets my shoulder. I’m surprised, but pain and exhaustion hard counters any shock I could feel at the contact. I just look up and see Nea, who’s wearing a Jack Skellington beanie that would never have shown up in the game. I don’t get how she can just wear a tank top and torn jeans in this weather. It’s too damned cold for that nonsense.

 

“Well, you certainly look half dead,” she observes, her English lightly accented.

 

“Feels like it,” I croak. “Headache from hell. Wraith bashed my skull in.”

 

She doesn’t look surprised. “Quentin found your body during the trial. Some folks started getting worried when you didn’t show up. She turns and gestures for me to follow. “Come on. You can get a cot and some rest.”

 

My gait is still a bit zombie like, but the promise of some actual damn sleep has me speeding up some despite my thundering headache. A part of me is worried about sleeping in the same plane of existence as Freddy Krueger, but dammit, I need the rest. Three traumatic experiences in a row with next to no down time has left me completely worn out. The risk will just have to be present.

 

The campfire is soon in view. I squint through the irritating light to see Meg, Tapp, Laurie, Adam, and David present.

 

“Found her,” Nea announces herself as she approaches. “Who’s in the tent?”

 

“Dwight should be up soon,” Laurie informs her with a nod of greeting. “Jake and Feng are still out though. Can you show Tanya the way?”

 

Nea sighs and rubs the back of her neck. “Sure. New girl, with me.”

 

This likely isn’t the first time she’s done this, so I do my best to ignore the exasperation in her voice as I follow. I wonder where they might’ve gotten tends and cots though.

 

I make a note to ask later when we come to a small clearing. The tent is made of make shift material, sheets carefully stitched together and poles made of carved wood that may have actually come from the forest. Entering shows me cots made similarly, with what looks to be a pilfered electric lamp that’s dimmed, but on.

 

Dwight is sitting at the edge of one cot, rubbing at his eyes and glasses on his lap. He looks up at us when we step in, squinting in a familiar way. I glance around to see six cots total and a stool. Dwight, Feng, and Jake are in the cots, while Kate sits at the stool; she waves at us with a smile when she spots us entering.

 

I take an empty cot and cover myself with the thin blanket, not bothering to undress. My coat will keep me warm enough to fall asleep, but the blanket will help my subconscious accept that this is a designated sleeping space.

 

My headache isn’t quite as furious anymore, which helps the exhaustion take over. Dwight and Nea start to whisper as the two exit the tent, and I’m soon drifting off. At least someone’s keeping watch incase Krueger gets up to something, is my last thought as I curl up tightly and close my eyes.

 

_Silent Hill-esque surroundings. Specifically, the Otherworld, all industrial rust and decay. Bugs on the ground, skittering and writhing. I walk, not wanting to say in one place for too long. The ceaseless grind of machinery in the background. Deafening. A nameless fear in my throat. I should run, but to where? It’s dark, I can barely see the concrete walls and deck plated floor. It’d be too easy to run into something, or fall down a dark hole._

_God, it’s so loud. I can’t think! I cover my years, but the endless whir continues, piercing into my skull in the worst way. I can feel the bugs on my feet now, little legs between my toes and jaws biting into my skin. I flinch away and try to shake them off, but more come and it just gets worse. Too much noise, I can’t see, they’re eating my feet, get off, get me out, out, OUT---!_

I wake silently, and take a breath. My legs are tingling like mad, and I shift so that blood can flow properly again. Sensory overload dreams. I hate them.

 

I turn over and look to see if anything’s changed. Jake is gone, as is Kate. Claudette’s laying in the cot next to me, and Feng’s snoring softly. Bill is sleeping at the far side, still as a rock. David sits at the stool now, keeping watch over the dreamers in all likelihood.

 

My headache is dulled now, just a mild, irritating pulse in time with my heart beat. Honestly though, I’m still exhausted, and I roll onto my back, worn blanket tucked under my chin as I try to doze off again.

 

I come to a little while later when someone enters. Laurie looks like death warmed over, and I wince internally. I sit up and whisper as quietly as I can, “You can have my spot.”

 

Laurie looks like she wants to protest, but I stand up and gesture her over. It’s warm, and it’s the closest one to the entrance. She doesn’t need a lot of convincing, and she crawls into the cot with a low groan.

 

I exit the tent after nodding to David, then stretch widely. I crack and pop all along my back, and my jaw does the same thing when I yawn. Without anything much better to do save for thinking, I head for the campfire.

 

Then again, I could use a good think. Now that I’ve had some sleep, I need to consider the merits of telling the others about my origin, the video game, and/or any of the lore that the game contains.

 

Honestly, I’m not terribly inclined to talk about the video game proper. A fair chunk of the survivors are from an era before gaming picked up (Bill, Laurie, Ace), or the information just wouldn’t help the present situation (everyone else).

 

Now, I don’t think I’m in the game itself. As a believer of the multiverse and alternate timelines, I personally am of the opinion that I’m in a timeline where the events of Dead by Daylight are actually happening. Not everyone here might necessarily understand that though, and I don’t want to add stress by giving them the impression that we’re all the playthings of careless writers. Even if there might be some accuracy to the idea.

 

So if I can’t actually explain the source of my data, that means that all the information I have on the killers and who they were is, unfortunately, locked up as well. More than one fanfiction writer has considered the survivors and killers need to work together in order to escape the Entity’s realm successfully, however, and the idea might have merit.

 

That means I need to first establish a baseline on how much the survivors actually know about the killers first, then consider methods on expanding said knowledge. Likely raids on the various territories the killers hold, which should be doable to do along with the supply runs.

 

I jump when something pokes me in the side and I whirl about to see Ace grin at me.

 

“Haven’t seen anyone get stuck in their head like that ‘cept for Quentin,” he says, handing me a cup.

 

I take it, blinking rapidly as I realize I’d wound up at the campfire and had just been staring out into space. Oops. I take a quick whiff of the curling steam, and smell tea. Well, boiling water makes sense here. No one wants to get a case of the shits in the middle of a trial.

 

“I do that,” I say with a shrug, letting the cup warm my hands. “It’s one of the reasons why I’m a half-way decent writer.”

 

“Ever get published?” he asks as he sits down on a log. Jake ignores him studiously as he cleans a…is that a hand saw? Must be part of his sabotage skill set.

 

“I’m not that decent,” I correct him with a self-depreciating smile. “It’s more for fun and stress relief, though it did come in handy for my grades at school.”

 

“School’s overrated,” Jake grumbles, carefully setting the saw into a box.

 

“Depends on what kind of skill set you want,” I shrug before sitting down. “Someone like me, I do well in the structured learning environment. My best friend? Not so much.”

 

“You’ve got people waiting for you?” Kate’s to my right, her guitar leaning on the log next to her. “Outside, I mean.”

 

“Mm-hm.” I nod. “My mom and my best friend, for certain. Less sure about my dad or sister, but eh. Enough motivation for me to start investigating this place.”

 

“Oh, right!” Dwight’s across from me, and he smacks his palm to his forehead. He gets up and circles ‘round the fire, handing me two kludged together journals.

 

“Here. The brown one’s for you. The red one used to belong to a guy called Benedict Baker. He was here before us, sometime in the late 1800’s. He’s got _some_ reliable information.” Oh good, they’re aware of how cracked some of his scripts are. Seriously devs, ‘some elements of humanity?’ ‘No traces of humanity?’ All in the same paragraph? Shitty writing that is.

 

“We’ve added our own observations later,” Dwight continues. “This will help you know what to look for, both for the killers and this place in general.”

 

I nod in thanks. “Data’s more than welcome,” I say. “What do you guys call this place anyway? That the spider in the sky controls?”

 

My fellow four eyes coughs into his fist at my careless remark towards the eldritch abomination. “Baker called it the Nightmare.” He shrugs. “It’s the best we’ve got.”

 

“Thanks.” My tea’s cool enough to sip from as I open the red journal and begin reading.

 

Baker’s earlier entries are coherent and consistent. He takes care to describe and sketch a number of things, from local plants to the killers he had encountered. These include the Trapper, Hillbilly, and the Wraith, but there’s also one I hadn’t heard of before. The Banshee was female, skin and bones, and could apparently stun survivors with her scream. She was on the slow side though, which seemed to balance things out. He doesn’t describe her Mori, as he later writes she had disappeared after only four encounters. His guess is that she hadn’t been effective enough as a killer, as he had escaped all four encounters, and that only one trial had a single sacrifice.

 

I note that he makes no records of the survivors banding together like what I see here today. This may actually be a recent development, so to speak. Interesting.

 

Later entries being to match what we get from the developers of the game, and it becomes clear that old Baker was losing hope of ever escaping the Entity’s hold. He sketches less, rambles more, and made wild guesses of the Entity’s motivations, as well as that of the killers. The last entry here indicates that he intended to seek the heart of this realm, deciding that perhaps the only way out was further in.

 

The next entry is written by Dwight, his handwriting a little clumsy and large when compared to the neat calligraphy from Baker. He describes the killers, his panic, and driving need to escape this place. Huh. It was his idea to try and band folks together, and it apparently took quite a bit of convincing to get Jake to join. Dwight refused to put down details, but what little I can glean from that entry tells me that the whole thing was something of a noodle incident.

 

There’s a couple of entries from Meg, mostly strategies on how to get away from the various killers. Claudette adds to the botany sketches Baker left behind, indicating which are good for medical culinary, or even poisonous purposes. Huh. Apparently they tried to poison the Trapper with a paste made from toxic mushrooms. Claudette didn’t observe any reaction, but the mass murderer had actually dropped her at the escape hatch at the end of the round. Her guess is that the attempt of fighting back might have gotten some respect from him.

 

An addendum informs me that the Entity punished her for breaking the rules. She doesn’t go into detail.

 

Jake’s contributions come in the form of animal sketches. Mostly birds and bugs, though he identifies the animals strung up at the Thompson property as cows, with two pigs there as well. The meat, he’s added, isn’t actually meat, but some gelatinous mass that they couldn’t identify when they tried to carve some off.

 

“Heads up.” Kate’s warning pulls me out of the last entry in Baker’s journal before I look to see the fog rolling in.

 

I set both it and my new gift down, standing as I brace for another round against a killer. The mist sweeps through, whiting away everything around me. And when it pulls away, I’m still at the campfire. The only other person here is Dwight.

 

I blink, puzzled at what just happened. “Jake said I wouldn’t get a break from trials until I was sacrificed,” I say to the former pizza boy. “Does getting killed count?”

 

“Um,” he hesitates as he considers my question. “You know, I have no idea.” He looks around the now empty clearing, and ticks his fingers off as he does some mental math. “I don’t think anyone’s been Mori’d before dying on the hook.” He doesn’t seem to like whatever answer he’s come to. “I’ll go wake Feng. Wait here, will you?”

 

“Not going anywhere on my own,” I say to him as I sit back down and pick up my tea. “Horror movie rules are in effect after all.”

 

He gives a reluctant snort. “Isn’t that the truth. OK, sit tight. The others---oh.” His shoulders relax some. “There you are!”

 

I turn to see what has his attention; Adam and Tapp are coming into the clearing, the teacher’s long coat being used as a sack for something.

 

“Got the damn cutlery back,” Tapp announces. “But we ran into the damned Pig. Laurie got trapped.”

 

Dwight nods with a sigh. “She’s resting. Made it back before you. I’ll go wake up Feng.”

 

“Don’t let her snarlin’ get to you,” Tapp tells him. “And if she bitches, tell her the new girl’s got better work ethic right now.” He gives a nod towards me.

 

Dwight’s laughter is a little nervous as he heads for the tent.

 

“Ah, I’m Tanya,” I introduce myself to the cop while he snags a cup of tea. “Tanya Walker.”

 

“David Tapp. Most folks call me Tapp, seeing as I got here after King,” the detective replies. He gulps down a mouthful of his tea and grimaces a bit. Well, cops are known for living off of coffee, so not surprising to see he’s not terribly fond of the drink.

 

Adam, meanwhile, puts the raided silverware into a roughly carved box. I wonder who has wood working skills in the group, as it’s not something mentioned in any of the bios. He then takes a seat near the fire with a small sigh.

 

“Good to see that you are awake.” Adam’s Jamaican accent is present, but his words are well annunciated. “The first death is never a pleasant experience.”

 

I grimace at the reminder. “No kidding. That was the headache from hell.” I say, my skull throbbing a little as the memory flashes through my mind.

 

Tapp snorts. “You’re taking it pretty well.”

 

I shrug. “Not gonna lie, the whole situation probably hasn’t fully sunk in yet. I’m also not the type to really cry at much. Least until I’m completely overwhelmed anyway.” I especially hate crying in front of other people. Strangers especially. Too much attention and vulnerability.

 

“Tears are not an evil thing,” Adam says. “But timing is important in this environment. Something to keep in mind.”

 

I hum in agreement as I flip through Bakers journal again; there’d been a lot of descriptions for the killers, and how to counter or avoid them, but next to nothing on their various backgrounds or civilian names. Looks like I have an avenue of research. Good. Goals will keep me focused and motivated.

 

I turn my attention back to Adam and say, “You’re right. I’ll do my best to stay self-aware of my mental state.”

 

“Self-awareness is one of the most valuable traits one can have here,” he nods. “If you ever need to talk, I am here.”

 

I smile a bit. “What did you do back home?” Tapp is easy enough to figure out, what with his police uniform. I know little about the Saw series, having only done preliminary research on him and Amanda when their characters were released for the game.

 

“I teach English literature and language,” Adam says with some pride in his voice. “To both high schoolers and some college students in Japan.”

 

“Nice!” I grin widely. “I’m not an English Lit. buff, but It’s a good field. Where’d you teach?”

 

“Kagoshima,” he answers, pronouncing it much the way the city’s named in Japan, rather than the way Americans tend to say it. “It was a challenging transition, but I enjoy it there.”

 

“I know a little Japanese,” I admit. “Granted, it’s been…” I trail off as I do some mental math. “Eight years since I’ve taken any classes? So my knowledge of the language is pretty shoddy right now. My German’s much better, but not fluent.”

 

Tapp shakes his head, with a touch of a smile on his face. “Bunch of experts in gibberish over here.”

 

I perk up. “Was that a Disney reference?” Has he seen Atlantis? That’s an awesome movie.

 

Going by his confused expression, it wasn’t, and I deflate a bit.

 

“I hate everything.” Ah, there’s Feng, and Dwight’s right behind her. She glares at everything and nothing, surly in general at being woken up, it seems. “Fuck this place, fuck the Entity, and fuck the complete lack of coffee.”

 

“Amen,” Tapp agrees. “Now drink your tea.”

 

“Fuck off,” she grouses, but grabs the offered cup. Most certainly not a morning person, then.

 

Dwight looks a tad sheepish at the whole display and takes a seat next to Adam. “Ah, Bill’s gone,” he informs, which has Tapp wincing.

 

“He’s gonna be one crabby bastard when he wakes up,” the cop says. “He tried to shank the Hag last time that happened, didn’t he?”

 

“Uh-huh,” Feng says through a jaw cracking yawn. “She limped the rest of the match. Didn’t tangle with him either.”

 

“Sounds like a good story,” I say, some rather amusing imagery coming to mind.

 

“Not until I’m actually awake,” the gamer groans.

 

“Fair enough,” I respond, and I open my new journal. Time to consider how to start my new research project.

 

I list the current killers and what territories they have. The MacMillan Estate, the Thompson Property, and the Wrecker’s Yard is extensive, meaning that there would be multiple trips there if I want the best chance to get as much background data on their holders as possible. There is the issue of any such hunt becoming a trial, but it’s a risk I’m willing to take.

 

Evan MacMillan, the Trapper, isn’t first on my list for killers to work with. Loyal to his father, literally to a fault, he qualified as a killer when he wiped out about a hundred miners under his company’s employ in a tunnel collapse under his father’s orders. Beyond that, I have no idea what kind of personality or lack there of he might have right now, so he’s on a probationary list. I’ll need more data on him before I come to any kind of decision.

 

The Wraith is also an issue. Before my encounter with him, I’d have been inclined to say yes. Objectively, I’m still inclined to say yes, because out of most of the killers here, he has some of the least culpability for gaining his title. Not his fault his boss was an underworld executioner, how was he supposed to know his working at a car crusher was murdering people? His only intentional murder was said boss when he found out about that, so my gut says give him some leniency and try and figure out if it’s possible to work with him.

 

Then again, he also bashed my skull in and gave me the second worst headache of my life. I am, literally, still sore over that.

 

The Hillbilly, with the placeholder name of Max Thompson Junior. If only because his parents never actually named him. He’s got perhaps the most tragic backstory of the lot, having been bricked into a single room for most of his life, all for the crime of being born disabled and ugly. Despite that, both Baker and the current roster of survivors agree that he seems to do all of his own maintenance for his chainsaw, and may have an excellent understanding of mechanics. That tells me that even though his social abilities are likely shit, his intellect is equal to anyone here regardless of his lack of education. I’d definitely like to have that on my side if possible. The biggest obstacle is likely the lack of communicative ability; isolation on the level he’s suffered probably means he can’t talk.

 

The Crotus Pen Asylum has fewer areas to cover, and it’s generally the Nurse’s territory. It’s debatable how much intel I might be able to retrieve from either location on Sally Smithson, and her ‘notions of purity’ she had during her psychotic breakdown is worrying. Still, she’s one of the less objectionable killers present, so she tentatively goes on to my ‘work with’ list.

 

The movie killers are not as difficult when it comes to either decision making, or searching for intel. Except for Leatherface, they all have correspondent survivors who have personal experience with each murderer, so that makes data hunting simple. Additionally, I don’t have intentions of working with any of them. Leatherface is too cowed by the Entity to try and work against it. Michael Myers probably wouldn’t give a shit if he’s killing people here or in the real world, so long as he has targets to go after. And Freddy Krueger is absolutely out of the question, with his active pedophilia and targeting of children. As for Amanda Young? What little I remember has me pretty sure I’d hate her on general principal. Anyone who’d willingly work with the one responsible for the gorey mess of the Saw movies is fucked in the head.

 

Urgh, who’s next? The Hag. Lisa Sherwood. The swamp itself might not have a lot of information; moisture is not kind on any kind of paper based reports, which is what I’m hoping to find. So unless I can find something on the cannibalistic cult that victimized the hedgewitch, I probably won’t be able to convince anyone that she could be worked with. If she’s willing to work with anyone.

 

Let’s see. Ah, the Doctor. I’m very, very tempted to write him off like the movie killers. One could argue he got screwed over by the CIA when they poached Herman Carter from the Yale program he’d originally wanted to be a part of, and they wouldn’t be _entirely_ wrong. But if Carter had any intention of going into a medical field, he should’ve understood the concept of medical ethics before he became a professional torturer. Still, I should verify what I can, so it’ll be a trip to the Léry’s Memorial Institute for me.

 

The Clown. No, no, and hell no, not with his trophy taking tendencies and his previous history of being a serial killer. Never mind his atrocious aesthetics, someone who tortured and killed animals as a kid is bad news no matter how you look at it. So I can safely skip visiting the cathedral.

 

And finally, the Spirit. I’m not sure how old she is, if she’d been high school aged or in college when her father decided to go murder suicide on his family. I do know that the only thing Rin Yamaoka is guilt of is self defense. I just need to prove it so that folks would be open to working with her. So I’ll be heading to the Yamaoka Family Estate at some point. Good thing Adam’s fluent in Japanese, mine’s beyond rusty after 9 years of no classes.

 

By the time I’m finished contemplating all this, I look up to see Dwight working at a manual can opener, peeling open several containers of food.

 

“Looks like Chef Boyardee for breakfast,” he says after sniffing the contents. “Hope you all like pasta.”

 

“I miss instant ramen,” Feng sighs. “And I can’t believe I’m saying that.”

 

“Least wise we got something,” Tapp snorts. “Unless you’d like another go at the expired kim-chi Jake found?”

 

“Kim-chi isn’t supposed to go bad,” she rolls her eyes. “Just goes to show the Entity can’t even get _that_ right. Urgh.”

 

I tune out the bickering and turn to Dwight. “Think I could go on the next supply run for food?” I ask, which has the man look at me in surprise.

 

“You want to do that?” he asks.

 

I nod. I want to see what a normal run looks like first before putting my idea of data mining forward.

 

“An extra pair of hands would be helpful,” Adam says. “Though you’ll likely be pulled into trial before we get an opportunity. If you get through it alright, then perhaps you can come with on a supply trip.”

 

“Sounds good,” I say.

 

All the food needs is to be warmed up some, so it’s put into the pot and left to simmer for a good ten to fifteen minutes. With that done, we’re given a mixture of spagettios and ravioli. It doesn’t take long for me to work through the food, as I’m used to eating out of a can, what with being a broke college student.

 

Before I can get a second serving, I spot mist curling at the edges of the clearing. “Uh, guys? Think we’ve got another trial coming.”

 

“ _Damn_ the spider’s greedy this week,” Tapp grumbles as he puts his bowl down. “We’re not this busy usually.”

 

“Happens when we get new people,” Dwight reminds him, pushing his glasses up. “Alright, dishes together. Whoever’s left behind is in charge of clean up.”

 

The mismatched bowls and silverware are stacked as neatly as can be done. I’m about to question what I should do with this if I’m the one left behind; I still don’t know how things get cleaned up here after all, but the fog is quick to sweep in.

 

I suppose that will be a mystery for another time.


	8. Fourth Run

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up everyone, I might not upload Chapter 9 on time; I'll be out of town with no internet for two weeks at the end of the month. I'll still work on the story of course, but family and RL come first. Sorry folks for the long wait before hand!

When the fog clears, I look around to find myself next to a patch of cattails and my boots sinking into soft mud. A squint into the distance confirms the sight of a wrecked ferry boat, which tells me all that I need to know.

 

The Backwater Swamp. The Hag’s territory.

 

I stifle a sigh even as I unzip my coat and ditch it. I used to like getting dirty as a kid, but I’ve gotten stingier with age and having to clean up after myself. This map is probably going to have me covered head to toe in mud and god knows what else, and that’s not considering whichever killer has the run of the place.

 

I already hate this, and the trial hasn’t even started.

 

Then I realize that I forgot ask more about the Bloodweb/Blood Altar, which means I’m still underpowered compared to my fellow survivors. Christ alive, my stupidity’s going to get myself and the others killed if I don’t get my shit together!

 

Right, focus. Worry about that after this trial. Gens, maybe a chest if chance is kind to me, and---oh hey, an unlit totem. I stare at the pile of bones and frown. I have no idea how to bloody cleanse the things, or if I can just take it apart without any special process. I crouch down and poke at the clean human skull, and raise a brow when it refuses to budge from its deceptively precarious position.

 

OK, I’ll ask the others about this later, I’m not gonna fuck around with this when I can do something more useful. I straighten up and move on, keeping my eyes peeled for movement of any kind.

 

It isn’t long before I hear the sound of someone else working on a gen, and I follow the clanks and muttered cursing to find Tapp occupied with the guts of the machine.

 

I slide up next to him and start doing what I can, and for once a person doesn’t jump when show up unannounced. Well, cop, it’d make sense he has a better spot check for that sort of thing.

 

As the two of us work, I whisper, “How do I disassemble those piles of bones scattered around? I didn’t find them in the journal?”

 

“The totems?” he asks. “Was it lit?”

 

“No,” I say.

 

“Right. Having certain tools help, but you don’t have that right now. So just keep pulling on parts, it’ll collapse eventually,” he says. “Try and get them when you find them, some of the little bastards light up after the gens are done.”

 

“Got it,” I nod. “Destroy any lit ones?”

 

“If you can,” he confirms.

 

That all said, we both get back to the gen, though Tapp is more careful to keep an ear and eye out of our surroundings. I try as well, but it’s so easy to just focus on one task at a time. I really need to work on my multitasking somehow.

 

I’m disrupted when a loud SNAP echoes through the arena, the sound sending a jolt of adrenaline through my system.

 

“Ah hell. Trapper,” Tapp mutters with a grimace.

 

I wince. From the game’s perspective, the Trapper is an average killer who mostly relies on survivors making mistakes and capitalizing on that. Not as much of a problem for old hands like Dwight or Feng. But Adam and myself are more vulnerable, being the newbies to this environment. Myself especially.

 

Hope he hasn’t painted his traps black. In this mud, it’d make spotting the damn things near impossible for me.

 

“At least no one’s hollering in pain?” I whisper. “Almost done with this, I think.”

 

“Yup. Three, two, one---” CLANK! The generator pops, and the both of us peel off in separate ways to ensure that the Trapper, if he visits, won’t get the both of us.

 

I don’t run. The mud sucks my boots, which just makes moving tricky, and I need to keep a careful watch for those bear traps. That it leaves fewer traces of myself is just a bonus.

 

It takes a couple of minutes for me to find anything useful, but I do stumble across a chest. It just so happens that the thing’s got a snapper in front of it, primed and ready to snag the unwary. It’s not tar coated, but it _is_ brown. Which might actually be worse, now that I think about it.

 

I snag a nearby cattail and pull it up by the root. Then, using the heavy seed pod, I smack the pressure plate with my impromptu stick.

 

SNAP! Man, that thing’s sensitive. But it works, and I keep moving. Let the Trapper bitch about me messing with his shit, I’m not letting that hazard go unmolested.

 

A cry in the distance tells me that Dwight’s around, and that he’s gotten hit. No aura sign of him being clamped by a trap, so a positive there? For now there’s nothing I can do about it, so I keep searching for something useful to do.

 

I find another unlit totem, and decide to see how long it takes for me to tear it apart. I squat down and start pulling at the…is that a femur or a humerus? I don’t know, my best friend’s the anatomy student, not me. The bone’s proving to be very resistant to my attempts in disassembly, as if the whole thing’s been bolted to the floor. I frown, hum in thought, then grab two bones with both hands, brace my feet wide, and _pull_.

 

It takes a near half minute of huffing, puffing, and muffled swearing before the bones pop free with a clatter. Naturally, I fall on my ass into the mud, which just adds further blue streaks into the air as I scramble up and scowl at the pile of human remains. If it weren’t for the possibility of NoED, I wouldn’t bother with these. Bit it _is_ a concern, so totem duty is a go.

 

Another SNAP in the distance, followed by a scream of pain. It’s not Dwight, I can tell that by sound as I look behind me to see the aura light up. So either Tapp or Adam just fell victim to a trap, and they’re close enough to potentially rescue before the killer comes by to snatch them up.

 

I haven’t fully mastered that crouch walk that the others can do, so I just run over to whoever it is that’s been trapped; turns out it was Adam who got caught, who’s trying and failing to wrench the thing open enough to escape.

 

“Here, let me help,” I whisper, my heart rate beginning to raise, both from tension and the approach of the Trapper. I pull the sleeves of my sweater over my hands to prevent my palms from getting cut open before grasping the jaws of the bear trap. “Anything broken?”

 

“No,” he responds, voice strained with pain as he puts his already bloody hands on the jaws. “Just fractured. One, two, three---!”

 

We both grunt as we manage to force the trap open enough for him to pull his leg away from the teeth, and we let go immediately once he’s out. The thing shuts with a deafening sound, and Adam immediately takes off with a heavy limp thanks to his bad leg.

 

I don’t. My heart’s in my throat, but giving the Trapper a different target means Adam has a better chance to get away. He’s slow with his injury, while I’m still perfectly capable of running. The mud will make things a bit difficult, but adrenaline can make up for a lot of faults.

 

I see a glimpse of the bloody light that tracks the gaze of killers before bolting; I don’t want a good look at the Trapper to see how he measures up compared to the game. The Wraith was enough of an experience with that concept.

 

I can hear the massive killer behind me, his breathing like a bear’s growl as he keeps pace with me. Knowing that he can overtake me in a straight line, I head straight for the boat with the hope that there’s some obstacles I can use to my advantage there.

 

There’s some scrap piles on the way there, along with a couple of pallets and a burning barrel. As the Trapper starts getting closer, I drop a pallet in an attempt to stun him. This, despite myself, nets me the first good look at the icon of Dead by Daylight.

 

The former cooperate heir is wearing his Chuckles mask, one of his creepiest ones in my personal opinion. The firelight lets me catch a glimpse of his broad face, the glimmer of a very human eye visible, as is the frustrated set in his jaw. It’s also the first bit of evidence that some of the alternative outfits the killers and survivors have might actually be a thing here. His machete is standard, a blood stained hodge podge weapon that he’s made himself. No bear trap in his off hand, so he’s either still looking for more or has already set the lot that’s spawned here.

 

I didn’t time the pallet drop right, so I’m off by maybe half an inch from hitting him in the face. Then again, he’s off by enough that the wood blocks a slash from his blade, so I’d say we’re even. I turn tail and haul my skinny ass away from him as I hear his boot come down on the barrier, and focus on how I might try to lose the killer.

 

I get to the boat and ignore the cacophony of birds that respond to the trespass. The generator here sounds like it’s half way done, stuttering in place, but there’s no sign of anyone around. So I don’t feel too bad about leading the Trapper here.

 

Said killer is hot on my heels though, and I weave through the larger than expected ferry, taking advantage of my smaller size and ability to make hairpin turns in order to keep ahead. I leap over a hole in the deck, and I hear the Trapper snarl behind me.

 

Morbid curiosity has me looking over my shoulder before the wood beneath me gives way, and I yelp in fright as I come crashing down onto what’s now the ground level of the ship. I impact heavily, my legs crumpling beneath me and my breath knocked out of my body entirely.

 

I’m wheezing on the ground, trying to get my lungs to function when I feel a heavy THUMP next to me. I try to get on to my feet, but the Trapper hefts me up by the back of my sweater, and what little air I managed to get is crushed out when he drops me on to his shoulder.

 

Of course I start wiggling about in an attempt to get out of his hold, but the guy’s the size of a bear and he’s got the strength to match. The only upside is that he hasn’t dropped me on the shoulder that has all those metal pieces sticking out of him, but I’m still screwed if the basement has spawned here.

 

The Trapper doesn’t take me down a level, but instead out of the boat. That tells me the basement’s in the killer’s shack at least, but there’s a hook right outside of the boat, and that’s where he places me.

 

Leatherface keeps his position as the roughest killer when it comes to hooking, but the Trapper takes second place as he forces the metal through my shoulder, expertly threading the damned thing between my bones. I holler in pain, my body curling up a bit out of instinct before I force myself to relax. No need to do more damage to myself until I’m rescued.

 

The Trapper snorts as he takes a moment to observe his handiwork, before his head turns to follow the echoing snap of one his traps being tripped, without any accompanying scream of pain. His growl is thunderous enough that I can almost feel it in my bones before he stalks off, the red light of his gaze following.

 

Unfortunately, all I can do now is wait for a rescue. One person is working on something, likely a generator. That actually pops as I turn my attention away; two down, three to go. One person is heading my way, from one of the buildings, I think. Might’ve been where Lisa had been held captive Before. Now where is the third person?

 

Ah. Currently high tailing it across the map, parkour included. Must be the one who got the Trapper’s attention.

 

I keep a careful eye on the progression of the Entity’s development around me. As much pain as I’m in, as scared as I am of getting sacrificed, the way in threads itself into existence is admittedly fascinating. Comes with having an inquisitive, scientific mindset, I suppose.

 

The one who comes to save my scrawny rear is Tapp, who lifts me off the hook with a grunt. “Come on,” he murmurs, and I follow wordlessly as I hold a hand over the hole in my shoulder.

 

Once we’ve made some distance from the hook, Tapp has me squat down as he pulls out a decently equipped pack of medical supplies. Huh, I hadn’t noticed that attached to his belt. Pain is distracting.

 

His skill in first aid makes sense, considering his police training, and I sit still enough for him to work.

 

“Don’t look like you stepped in a trap,” he says quietly. Might be trying to pull my mind from the burning of alcohol in my wound.

 

“Adam did,” I say, my voice a tad hoarse. “Helped get him out, then pulled the Trapper’s attention from him.”

 

“Reckless,” the cop scolds me. “You’re still new, you shouldn’t take those kinds of risks.”

 

He’s probably right, and I let the silence be my admission to his point.

 

He finishes up after a few more seconds. “OK, you’re good to go. Be careful, alright?”

 

I nod. “I’ll do my best.” That’s all I can promise right now.

 

With that, we split ways, and I go searching for another generator or perhaps a chest, if I’m lucky.

 

Over the course of the next minute or two, I hear three different traps snap, with only the last one catching someone. It’s not Adam’s voice, and neither is it Dwight, so that leaves Tapp as the next victim. His aura tells me he’s basically on the other side of the map compared to me, and he goes down a few seconds later. Dammit.

 

There’s not a lot I can do right now, so I keep looking for useful things. Which actually includes a chest tucked away behind a fallen log, so I open it and rifle through the contents for loot. A lot of animal bones, some human ones, and---a page?

 

I pick it up and scan the contents, only to take a sharp breath. Two languages are written on this, a poster for a missing person. I don’t know the other language, but one is English, and it has a picture for one Lisa Sherwood. A missing person’s poster.

 

Holy shit. I quickly fold it and stuff it into my front pocket before digging further in to find a flashlight. I never expected to find anything during a trial, not wanting to jeopardize anyone’s survival for the sake of research. But I won’t say no to this little surprise, not when it could help me link the identities of the killers and their human, civilian selves.

 

I look up to see Tapp hanging on a hook, and make my way towards him. Time to pay back a debt, and I’ve got something to blind the killer if he decides to menace me again.

 

Naturally, when I get there, someone else is helping him down. Dwight’s wrapped his arm in gauze, and is quickly patching the detective up from his own wounds on both his leg and shoulder. Not just the hole there, but the deep cut that continuously oozes blood and has the older man hissing in pain.

 

“Can I help?” I ask, setting down the flashlight and crouching next to the two.

 

“Hold this,” Dwight whispers as I’m given cotton pads and gauze. “And watch what I do.”

 

The deeper lesion is sterilized and sown up, much to Tapp’s muttered displeasure. It’s gruesome to watch the skin and muscle be pulled back together, but I watch, because I’m going to need this skill sooner rather than later. Hell, I’ll probably have to do it to myself at some point. The thought makes me a little queasy.

 

With that done, I help stopper the hole in Tapp’s shoulder and work with Dwight to wrap it tightly, but not too tightly. Finally, a paste that smells herby is applied to the cop’s leg at his direction, because “I need both of ‘em to run, only need one hand to do the gennies.” Which, OK, fair. Turns out it’s a pain killer that Claudette’s made, but they have to be stingy in its use due to limited supplies. Makes sense.

 

I also notice the way that the blood spilled from Tapp’s wounds is absorbed into the ground rather quickly, instead of pooling like it should. I suppose this is another, passive way the Entity can feed if it can’t get a sacrifice.

 

By this point, the Trapper’s on his way here, and all three of us scatter in different directions to keep the killer from getting all three of us at once. I don’t forget my flashlight though, wanting the useful distraction the item could provide should he decide to go after me.

 

The heartbeat doesn’t follow me, so I take it he’s gone after one of the others. In the distance, a third generator pops. Good on Adam to stay on task while the rest of us are distracted.

 

I stay away from the boat and instead poke my head into a window of the killer’s shack to see if there’s a generator there. Nope, and there’s the stair way to the basement. That confirmed, I move on to see what else I can find; eventually I discover a generator near one of the doors and go to work. My shoulder complains of course, but I can’t worry about that now. It’ll either heal when I get out, or in the event I die. I don’t think on that too hard either.

 

Getting various pieces to where they’re supposed to go is feeling an almost normal task now, if I were to ignore the tension of the Trapper’s presence in the area. I hear another trap go off, and I wince when I hear it’s Tapp again. If the killer snags him, it’ll be his second hook. Hopefully he can escape.

 

No such luck. He’s a good ways off from my location, and my generator’s about half way done. I pull off with a sigh, not wanting to be the closest person and not doing anything about his situation.

 

Tapp is busy trying to keep the Entity from impaling him when I approach, and I glance around to make sure the Trapper isn’t using Insidious. No sign of him, but there _is_ a set of jaws below the hook. I find a nearby rock and drop it on the pressure plate, making the thing trigger before wrapping my arms around the detective’s middle and unhooking him with a grunt.

 

There’s no time to patch him up though, because the Trapper is already on his way to pound our skulls in. The two of us separate, and all I can do his hope that he doesn’t get hooked a third time.

 

It’s only half a minute later before I hear Tapp go down again as I get back to the generator I’d been working on earlier. I see a dent in its side with the machine spitting sparks, which tells me that the killer didn’t approve of my progress. I look over to see Tapp getting picked up, but realistically there’s nothing I can do now. He’s dead hook, and we need to get these gennies done. Fuck.

 

I crouch down and get to work, swallowing my heart back down as the cop is sacrificed, the awful drone filling the air and rattling my nerves as I try to finish the machine in front of me.

 

It blows up in my face, making me flinch back and my senses stretch out as I check to see if the Trapper’s approaching. No escalation in heart rate though, so I keep on task, inching closer to my immediate goal.

 

Then I hear Adam go down and look over to find his location. The killer’s shack. Which means he’s basement bound. Shit.

 

Well. This _is_ what the flashlight is for. I leave the generator, now three quarters done, grip my tool tightly, and go for the killer’s shack.

 

I trot my way over, and crouch down next to a window, staying out of sight as Adam is placed on a hook downstairs. I wince hearing his scream, but I’m not moving until the Trapper moves away.

 

I hear the massive man move up the stairs, his steps heavy and my heart thudding almost painfully hard. My shoulder aches in reminder of what he does, but I don’t move a muscle even as he passes the window. Sudden movements draw the attention of predators after all.

 

I keep track of his path with my ears and the terror radius, and another snap about half way across the map tells me Dwight is willing to play distraction at least. I hear the Trapper snarl under his breath and he stomps off in the direction of Dwight’s lure, which allows me to crawl over the window ledge once he’s out of hearing range.

 

I skitter my way down the stairs, flashlight still in an iron grip when I approach Adam. He’s first hook, so he’s just hanging there, wheezing in agony and with a hand on the hook. He spots me, and sighs in relief.

 

I pull him down, my own shoulder burning; we both haul ass out of there, as the whispering and chittering that seems to fill the room is eerie as all hell. Once we’re clear of the killer’s shack, I help Adam cover his wound, though neither of us have the proper supplies for a full patch. Just enough to keep the blood from dripping everywhere and giving the killer another trail to follow.

 

“Thank you,” he says, face pinched in pain.

 

“I’m almost done with a gen over there,” I point out. “Can you help?”

 

“Certainly.” With that established, he follows me over and we both finish fixing the engine in short order, causing it to light up. One more to go.

 

“You want to stick together?” I ask him, concerned. He’s already got a damaged leg, his face is bruised from what was probably the flat of a blade being smacked into it, and his shoulder’s fucked. The chances of him getting away from the Trapper if he’s found again aren’t high, and it worries me.

 

He considers the offer for several long moments before shaking his head. “No. I appreciate the offer, but we need to finish the last generator. If one of us is caught, at least the other can escape, and deprive him of his prey.”

 

I give a wordless grumble, but he’s got a point. “You be careful, alright? And keep an eye out for those damned traps of his,” I poke a finger at his uninjured shoulder.

 

A smile twitches at the corner of his lips. “I will.”

 

I give him a firm nod, and with that said, we part ways.

 

I creep my way through the swamp, keeping eyes and ears out for any sign of the killer, or another generator that I could start. I avoid patches of high grass and weeds, not wanting to chance breaking my leg to those mechanical jaws.

 

Unfortunately, finding a generator is proving more difficult that I anticipated. To add to my bad luck, the killer finds me first, spotting me when I’d tried to hide behind a burning barrel; I’d hoped that the flame would’ve had him dismissing any movement as a trick of the literal light.

 

Hearing the Trapper chuckle as he came towards me is probably the most terrifying sound I’ve ever experienced.

 

I use my whole and hale legs for everything they’re worth, all but flying over the muddy terrain in order to get away from the killer. No time to think, no time to question, just need to put space between me and him and buy time for the last gen to pop.

 

I stay ahead by using the various obstacles placed throughout the map, but after the incident at the boat, I’m skittish about using any of the buildings to buy space. I instead go to the docks, dodging around barrels labeled flammable and piled nets before jumping off the edge of the dock to gain space.

 

And land straight onto a bear trap. The jaws clamp shut around my left leg, making me scream as the teeth dig into my flesh and scrape roughly against my tibia and fibia. Behind me the Trapper makes impact with a heavy thud, and my hands bleed while I try to pry the trap open before he can grab me.

 

Wait, the flashlight! I must’ve dropped it somewhere, where did it go!? Maybe I could---!

 

A beam of light lances over my head and I hear the Trapper grunt behind me. I follow the trail to see Dwight holding the tool I’d dropped in my panic, and he shouts, “Hey, haven’t gotten me yet, have you!? Come on big guy, let’s see if you can actually catch me this time!”

 

Instead of taking the bait though, the killer swings his heavy blade; the flat of it catches the side of my head with enough force that I think I black out for a few moments, because when I can focus, I’m on his shoulder, limp and woozy.

 

I start me efforts to escape, but my efforts are weak, as dizzy as I am from the head blow. The Trapper’s also making an effort to avoid getting blinded by Dwight, who’s still shouting and attempting to distract the giant without getting quite into machete range.

 

Still, that buys me time to recover my wits some, and I’m soon kicking and thumping as I try to writhe out of his hold. And with Dwight continuing to be a pest, I manage to slip out and fall to my feet, and the killer grunts in frustration at the loss.

 

The both of us run after that, right as the final generator goes off with a loud alarm. I go for one gate, limping but riding the adrenaline as hard as I can to keep a decent speed up while Dwight goes for the other.

 

But instead of going for the annoyance, the Trapper goes for the weak link. It makes sense of course that I’m a more appealing target, what with my busted leg, but it doesn’t change the fact that this means I’m trying to dance around his swinging machete while also trying to get to the switch to activate the gate’s opening sequence.

 

It’s not like in the game where the survivor can just spin in a couple of circles and bamboozle the killer into a swing and a miss. This guy can move past the game’s animations, which he proves as he goes for a back handed blow when I duck towards his left. I feel my hair ruffle at the missed shot and try to keep behind him, and that’s followed up by a kick to my ribs that I barely dodge with a high pitched yelp.

 

Still, the Entity favors the killers, and it goes to show that my luck would run out eventually. I throw myself one way, he swings from another, and the blade bites into my left arm deeply enough to grind against the humerus.

 

To add insult to injury, his blow carries enough force to knock me off my feet, and I faceplant into the mud, blood pouring out of the laceration while I try to crawl away from the Trapper.

 

Instead of picking me up though, the bear of a man steps over my prone form, wide strides quickly taking him out of sight. In the distance, parallel to the exit gate I’m at, a horn blares three times to indicate that the second gate is open.

 

I groan and dig into what little reserves I have left to drag myself towards that gate. There’s no way I can open this one, both of my arms are now fucked beyond belief. At least, that’s what I’m thinking before Adam comes along, eyes wide and panting heavily.

 

“Hold still and gather your strength,” he orders as he pulls down the switch. “Moving will make it more difficult to repair the damage.”

 

I’d retort, but I literally want nothing more than to pass out to get away from the pain that’s radiating throughout my body. So I just curl up a little and try to keep breathing, even as blood continues to drain from my body and into the thirsty earth.

 

As soon as the door cranks open, Adam hauls me over one shoulder despite my body’s literal scream of protest; I didn’t mean to but it just hurts too much to stop. The terror radius starts to approach, and Adam is basically carrying me out of the arena when the trial ends.

 

Well. I survived. This time anyway. Fucking ow.


	9. Goals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated tags; added for the this chapter include Depictions of Panic Attack, mentions of suicide and substance abuse, and small amounts of ritualistic self harm due to the Entity. Just a heads up peeps!
> 
> Additionally, I'll be out of the country with no internet access for two weeks come this Wednesday; this is the last chapter you'll be getting for that time. I'll still be writing in journals and such for this story, but additional updates may take up to three weeks due to recovery from jet lag, Kingdom Hearts 3 eating my life, and actually getting around typing everything down. I apologize for the delay, and hope you enjoy everything below.

As soon as we’re out of the fog, I try to carry some of my own weight again so that Adam doesn’t have to half drag me across the forest. My leg isn’t screaming as insistently anymore, but both of my arms hurt like a bitch from the abuse I went through, and I can feel my breath catching.

 

A small part of my mind wonders if the Trapper had been running Distressing or Overwhelming Presence. That’d neatly explain why I’m starting to cry despite my best efforts.

 

Adam seems to catch on to my emotional strain, as he slows to a stop and sets me down on a flat, wide stump that seems to be conveniently available. My limbs are shaking while I hold my breath in an attempt to calm the tears down and stuff this reaction into a box. There has to be a better time or place for this!

 

“Don’t,” the teacher says quietly, kneeling down in front of me despite the pain he must also be in. “We are safe enough here, and you _need_ to let the stress pass. Let it come.” His hands are warm as he pulls my arms so that they’re not crossed so defensively in front of me, his thumbs rubbing the back of my hands like the way Kaz would back home.

 

That breaks the dam and I start to bawl, tears blotching on my glasses and my nose streaming. I curl up a bit, but not away from Adam, who’s silent presence is soothing in its own way.

 

I’ve got no idea how long I sat there on that stump, just crying my eyes out and letting my rage, frustration, and terror over all of this flow out through the combined breakdown and panic attack. Long enough for Adam to have shifted in place when I could finally see, after I had calmed down enough to pull out some napkins from my coat pocket and using those to wipe off the worst of my tears from both my face and glasses. My final napkin is used up blowing my nose, which is an awful, snotty mess. No surprise; I haven’t cried like that in over a year.

 

By now, the pain in my arms is a hell of a lot better. An ache in my shoulder, an itching line on my upper left arm, but the agony from earlier is now just a fresh memory. I give a phlegmy cough in attempt to clear my throat and croak out, “Thanks.”

 

He nods. “Of course. My reaction was not that different when I died the first time.” I can only feel the pressure of his hand on my shoulder through my winter coat, but the gesture helps anchor me a bit more. “It’s as I said. There is no shame in tears.”

 

I sigh, take off my glasses again and rub my sticky face. “I know. Logically anyway,” I amend. “I’m just used to, well, being the strong one back home. Had to be, you know?”

 

“We all have our strong times, and weak ones here,” he tells me, then gets up from the forest floor before offering me a hand. “As long as we support each other, we _will_ live through this.”

 

I accept the help and get on to my feet, and try to think of a new subject to talk about. I don’t want to mentally linger on my breakdown, it just makes me more liable to come apart at the seams again. “I do have an inkling of an idea for potentially getting out of here,” I say, considering my research. Then I remember the poster I found and partially unzip my coat as we start walking through the forest. Did I bring it with me?

 

“Yes!” A bit muddy from my faceplant earlier, but the text and image are still intact, and that’s what’s important.

 

“What is it?” Adam hangs back a bit to peer at my prize. “A missing person’s poster?” he then takes the chance to read the text. “Lisa Sherwood…”

 

According to the poster, Lisa was 23 when she went missing, and that she’d been gone for a year by the time this was printed. The date is smudged out, only showing 19-something. Easy enough to guess that she’d been from the 20th century, even without this, but the confirmation is nice. Her face is full, a smile showing white, slightly crooked teeth. Nothing compared to the maw she has nowadays. The top of a colorful dress is visible, bright red and blue. The biggest hint as to her current identity is that her hair is done up in the picture the same way it is here, though the dreadlocked bun isn’t as full and much cleaner.

 

“I don’t know what the second language is, but I found it in a chest,” I tell him. “So I’m thinking it could be something based on whatever it is that had the Entity recreate the swamp. It could be connected to the Hag’s history, since it’s her area.”

 

“It _is_ interesting,” he grants. “But how is it relevant to your idea?”

 

“Well, first I want more information,” I tell him, folding the paper again, and this time tucking it into the internal pocket of my coat. Until we get to the campfire, it’s the safest place to put it. “On everything. The Entity, this place, the arenas and their history, and the killers themselves. Myers, Krueger, and the Pig are all evidence towards the fact that most, if not all of the killers, were or are human. I’m hoping that in the course of gathering data, a lead for an escape may follow.”

 

“Difficult,” he says as we move through the forest, the soft loam giving a bit beneath his shoes and my boots. “Doable, if one knows where to look. But there is always a risk when exploring the killer’s territories.”

 

I grimace. “I know, but it gives me something to focus on. A project. That’ll be something to help keep myself together, as much as having a pattern to work with once I settle into the run of things here.” My coat is zipped back up, and I stuff my hands in my pockets. My clothes are a bit dirtier now, to my critical eye. My boots are caked in mud, and the lower half of my shins as well. I doubt my butt looks much better, considering the way I’d planted myself in the mud when pulling that totem apart.

 

“Dammit, I need to clean myself up. And get a change of clothes to, I’m amazed they’re not completely ruined at this point,” I mutter.

 

“There is a limit to how badly they will soil,” Adam tells me. “An aspect of the Entity, I think. As for a change of clothes, I believe Nea or Laurie may be of assistance there.”

 

“And for cleaning them? Or bathing?” I ask, curious as to what the answer may be.

 

“There is a river a little ways from the camp,” he explains. “The water is cold, but clean. I doubt we truly have to boil it, but Claudette insists on safety precautions.”

 

“I don’t blame her,” I shake my head. “The last thing anyone needs is having a case of diarrhea during a trial.”

 

His expression is an amusing cross between a grimace and reluctant humor at the mental image I just gave him. “Yes, well.” He coughs into a fist. “Cleaning yourself up should be doable. This will hopefully be your last trial for a cycle or two.”

 

“I really, really hope so,” I grumble. “I need sleep, a bath, a change, and food. In no particular order.”

 

“As well as a visit to the shrine,” Adam mentions, and I facepalm.

 

“I forgot that again!” I exclaim with frustration. “Goddammit, no wonder I keep getting my ass beat like a drum.”

 

That has the teacher taking hold of my upper arm and turning me to look at him. “None of that now,” he scolds me lightly. “You are allowed to make mistakes. Yes, they may get you or others hurt, but that is simply the way of things here. Learning from them is the more important thing.”

 

“I…” He’s right. Logically, he’s right, even _with_ my extra knowledge of the game. I’ll forget details, I’ll space on things, I’m going to screw up in trials. That’s just a fact. It’s when I can’t meet my own high standards, I tend to beat myself up, but Adam’s right.

 

I slump a little and sigh. “Yeah. Heh,” I then look up and smile at him. “You know, you remind me of my therapist right now. You ever consider that line of work?”

 

“Ah,” he blinks. “No. Though I suppose that is high praise, yes?” He lets go of my arm, his point made.

 

I nod. “Yeah. God knows I’m gonna need several people to help keep me on track. You might wind up being one of them, at this rate.”

 

He smiles. “I doubt that will be a great burden.”

 

I snort as I follow him to the orange glow that’s finally come into sight. “Oh, you say that now. Just wait ‘til I get comfortable enough to break out all the geeky references I have,” I warn him with a grin.

 

“Only if you can deal with all of the Shakespearean puns I hold in store,” he counters, good humor lighting up his face.

 

“Well, my Shakespear-fu’s weak,” I don’t hesitate to admit. “But if you’ve got grounding in the Lord of the Rings trilogy, then you’re totally on.”

 

“A classic,” he says even as he shakes his head. “But your taste needs refinement.” The mischief in his eyes tell me he doesn’t mean it.

 

I just stick my tongue out at him in response as we step into the clearing. What? I’m totally mature! Not.

 

Laurie’s up and at the campfire, as are Bill, Kate, and David. Feng looks to be rather bored, poking at the fire with a stick that doesn’t seem to burn.

 

“Good run?” Bill asks from his seat, noticing us first.

 

I make a face. “Trapper. Whom I’m going to give a terrible nickname as soon as I can think of one, because he’s a scary asshole.” I take a seat next to Kate, ensuring she has some extra space for her guitar as the singer tunes it.

 

“No trial’s a walk in the park,” Kate gives me a nod. “But he’s nasty one when he puts his mind to it. We had the Hillbilly.” Then she smiles. “And the damndest thing happened too.”

 

I raise an eyebrow. What would happen during her run that would have her so amused?

 

Bill is grumbling under his breath now, smoke puffing from the soldier like he’s a train engine while Kate continues.

 

“So we’re in those shelter woods, and I can hear that chainsaw a mile off.” She strums the G string and slightly turns a peg to lower the pitch. “And when I come around the corner, I see the old man there sleeping like a baby.” Her mild Southern twang is a touched more pronounced now as she grins. “Now, I was worried ‘cause I was thinking that the killer’d trip right over him and break all his ribs. But what do I see? There’s the Hillbilly charging along, when he sees ol’ William and skids right to a halt. He shuts that chainsaw down, shuffles around him, who’s still snoring loud enough to wake the dead mind---” That gets a harrumph from said old man. “Before revving up that awful thing and going right off elsewhere.”

 

I blink at the mental images being painted by Kate’s story, then snort in laughter. “Say what?” I ask, not quite able to believe what I’m hearing.

 

“Honest to God,” the singer holds her hand up with her oath. “Right before my eyes, the Hillbilly went right around him like he was a cottonmouth!”

 

After the cry I had earlier, the laughter this inspires is exactly what I need. Feng smirks and David joins in with a chuckle, having clearly heard this before. I imagine that this will be a story that will make the rounds as survivors pass through the campfire, much to Bill’s consternation.

 

“You know, it’s rather interesting,” Laurie looks thoughtful after the grins calm down. “Bill stabbed the Hag when she woke him up suddenly. You think they can talk to each other? The killers, I mean?”

 

“It could be possible,” Adam grants. “Though I imagine for some of them, speech would be difficult. The Doctor, for one.”

 

Feng makes a derisive sound when Carter is mentioned. “Frankenstein? Bet he sounds like Mickey Mouse if he can talk.”

 

I snort. The nickname’s apt, if she’s referring to the fictional doctor and not the golem he made. Well, that and the idea of a big guy like that sounding so high pitched naturally. “Kate’s story lends credence to the idea,” I say. “Though we probably can’t say anything for sure unless we get hard data.”

 

“Freddy talks.” I jump a little as Quentin accidently sneaks up behind me. “Oh, sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you.”

 

“It’s fine,” I wave it off, a hand over my chest. “Just tells me to get better at situational awareness.”

 

“You could use some movement training too,” Bill points out. “But like the boy said, some of these lunatics can jabber on like anyone else. Doesn’t mean it’s special.”

 

“It does mean they can exchange intel,” I counter. “Just like we do here.” I rather doubt Krueger is popular with the killers either; convicted child molesters like him tend to be at the very bottom of the pecking order in modern day prisons, and that’s basically what this place is. Add to that his, politely put, _abrasive_ personality, and I doubt any of the killers will be speaking to him if they can help it.

 

Well. Maybe the Clown. But even that’s not certain.

 

“Anyway, it’s one more data point. And I’ll take what I can get.” Should probably add that to my notebook, now that I think about it. As well as Lisa’s missing poster. I pull both out of my pocket and start writing, and as soon as I’m done copying the information on it, I let Adam pass it around to those who are curious.

 

“I wonder if she’s one of those poor people in that larder,” Kate says sadly when she holds the poster. “God. Eaten alive, but they didn’t die quick.”

 

“Could be.” Quentin’s writing as well, or perhaps sketching. I don’t know much about him as I’d never seen the remake of Nightmare on Elm’s Street. “Or she just happened to be from the area in the swamp?” He taps his pencil against his chin. “She looks a bit familiar though.”

 

The silence that settles in is thoughtful, and time passes as I continue to scribble. Not long after I finish, Dwight finally joins us, with Tapp right behind and looking completely wrung out. The poor cop is aware enough to do a headcount, then head straight to the tent without another word.

 

I’m still a little unsure as to why I haven’t been sacrificed yet, but I don’t want to question it right now. The after effects seem to be particularly unpleasant.

 

The others catch Dwight up on what he’s missed, Bill being skirted around by the killer included. I finish up with notes, which include my thoughts on a killer I’d missed, much to my embarrassment.

 

The Huntress, or Ana, is likely not someone I’d be able to work with. One, the language barrier in that she’s Russian. Another is the time gap, as she’s from one of the World Wars, though which one it is I’m uncertain on. And finally, it’s a bit up in the air if she’d be verbal at all. Speaking is a skill, just like any other, and with the isolation she’d suffered since she was a child means it’s a skill that could very well have degraded over time. I’m honestly not sure if working with her is possible, under these conditions.

 

I feel a nudge to my side and I look up, blinking. Adam, who’d sat down to my right, says, “You wanted to know more about the killers, correct?”

 

“Well, not just them,” I say. “The environment, how complete or not it is, the Entity itself, the history behind the areas it had pulled in---” I turn my attention to the rest of the campfire now. “As well as any history behind the killers themselves. We have a fairly complete record on Krueger, some details on the Pig, and a little less on Myers, but all of it indicates that they were normal humans at one point. Knowing who the other killers were could give more information on how the Entity picks people out, perhaps even on both sides of this conflict it’s arranged.”

 

“And why do you need all this?” Feng raises an eyebrow. “They’re trying to kill us. We don’t want to die. The Entity chews on us if we die. That’s all there is to it.”

 

“Knowledge is power,” I point out. “ _Why_ does the Entity do what it does? Jake said it’s feeding on us, and seeing as you all have been sacrificed, I’m willing to take you on your word for now. But why do the killers go along with the sacrificing instead of offing us themselves? What hold does it have on them? How many of the rules of the trials apply outside of them? How many of them are bendable inside the trials? How do the killers communicate if so many of them can’t, or won’t speak? All of this can help us predict their behavior, and maybe, just _maybe_ , give a lead on getting out of here.” I shrug. “That, and I need some kind of project to keep me focused. A research project is best, and more data can always be used.”

 

Dwight is now holding the poster I found, his gaze a little unfocused as he considers my words. “How would you go about trying to find this information?” he finally asks, now looking at me with a thoughtful frown.

 

“Search the arenas during supply runs,” I state. “I found this during a trial, but I don’t like the idea of jeopardizing people’s chances of getting out intact. So a side-quest to a supply run would be the next best thing.”

 

He’s quiet for a moment. “Risky,” he eventually assesses. “The maps aren’t always empty during supply runs, and the killer doesn’t _have_ to trigger a trial in order to hurt you.”

 

Now that’s news. My brow raises in surprise, but I accept the information without question. “Noted. But this is something I want to do. If only to give me focus.”

 

“I can understand that,” Dwight nods. “Just don’t put yourself at risk if you can help it. Just because you can’t die for good here doesn’t mean that you can be reckless.”

 

I frown and turn to Adam. “Have I been giving that impression?”

 

“Not to my knowledge,” the teacher replies. “It is something most of us have tried to use to our advantage though. Perhaps too much, at times,” he turns to look at Feng with a raised eyebrow.

 

Said gamer rolls her eyes. “If it doesn’t stick, it doesn’t count,” she says, waving away his words.

 

I hide the wince that inspires. Considering her history with substance abuse and the spiraling burnout she’d been going through before she got here, that has…disturbing implications.

 

Unfortunately, it’s not something I can tackle right now. I don’t have the toolset for that discussion, and I haven’t known Feng for long. If she’s anything like my younger sister, she’ll get combative if I ask about it, so for now, I let the matter lie.

 

“Right. Well,” Dwight looks a bit uncomfortable at Feng’s casual relationship with Death, so I might not be the only one who picked up the potential problems there. “If you want to go on a supply run, just make sure anyone who goes with you agrees to your secondary objective. Alright?”

 

“Fair enough,” I say with a nod. Right. That’s been established, so now on to some other objectives. “Hey Laurie?” I turn to the blonde. “Is it possible I could borrow some clothing and get pointed to the river so I can wash this?” I pick at the dry mud on my jeans.

 

“Oh! Yeah, not a problem.” She gets up and motions for me to follow. I stand up, brush my pants off, and amble after her.

 

I’m led to the tent, which has several trunks behind it actually. One labeled for men’s clothes, another for women’s, a stock of medical supplies, more for tools and flashlights…

 

Wow. Add-ons here, as well as various DLC items, if I’m interpreting this right. I can’t help but like the chance to explore some of the mechanics that would translate to real life here, and I poke my head over Laurie’s shoulder as she opens the trunk that has women’s clothes.

 

“Let’s see…you’re taller than Feng at least,” she mutters to herself as she starts sorting through what’s available. “Any preferences?”

 

“Long sleeves, full pants,” I say. “I get cold so damn easy, so that’s basically gonna be a requirement. Darker colors are appreciated, but not necessary if resources don’t allow for it.”

 

The high schooler chuckles. “I’ll see what I can do,” she says, fingers skittering over cloth before she eventually picks out a few.

 

A white t-shirt with no logo, some dark leggings and brown shorts to go over that. A dark red fleece jacket seems to complete the ensemble, and my morbid thought is at least the blood won’t stand out too much on the coat.

 

“That’ll work,” I shrug. I don’t intend to wear the second outfit too much anyway, just enough so I can clean and dry my primary clothes. I’m a creature of habit, and what few things I own I’m possessive over. My white snow coat is probably going to wind up a comfort item during my stay here.

 

“Alright, I’ll show you the river and you can clean up and change there,” Laurie says as she straightens up. Taking a few more things, including a worn looking towel. She motions for me to follow again, and I trot after her into the forest.

 

It takes a few minutes to get there, the sound of rushing water announcing the presence of the river before we reach it. The shore is sandy, the water clear and cold, and I mutter, “Bathing is not going to be very fun.” It’s also fairly isolated from camp, and I wonder if the killers use this location too. The thought is something I quickly file away; I don’t need another panic attack so soon after my last one.

 

“It isn’t,” Laurie grants with a nod. “But it’s worse to be grimy and reeking. Some of the killers seem to have a good sense of smell, and they’ll use that.” Huh, she brought some simple soaps. “Here. This for your clothes, you can use that rack over there, and this for your body and hair.”

 

Both soaps are scentless, and I’m quick to strip to my underwear before washing myself as quickly as possible. Maybe this is a survivor only area, but I don’t want to chance it, and I don’t like being naked around strangers anyway. “Cold cold cold cold!” The shock of the water is a hell of a distraction from my nerves, and I’m all but running out of the water once I deem myself clean enough. “Bloody hell that’s awful!” I exclaim. “Has anyone given any thought to try and figure out how to transport and heat water efficiently?”

 

Laurie shrugs. “Getting a barrel or water trough out would be difficult with two or three people,” she says. “Then add to the risk of a spontaneous trial, or just a killer on the hunt?”

 

I wince. “Yeah, that makes sense.” I grab the towel and dry myself off, shivering a bit when I put on the new clothing. Not as warm as I’d like, but it’ll have to do.

 

Then I move on to the more difficult task of hand washing my clothes; there’s a reason why the washing machine was considered a break through in the early 20th century, in that it saved so much time in house hold chores that it helped make it possible for women to move into the work force. It wasn’t the only factor of course, but it contributed to the shift in society and perceptions.

 

Even though Laurie helps me, it still takes a while to scrub out the worst of the mud, blood, and various dirt stains from the arenas. I’m also distracted by keeping an ear out for anything that might be near the river; only birds from the sound of it, but I’m still somewhat tense due to our isolated location.

 

By the time I’m done, or at least call it good enough, my arms are aching something fierce, my hands are itching furiously from the harsh soap used to clean them, and I’m already dreading the next time I have to do this. “You think it’d be possible to bribe one of the killers to let us use a washer in their area?” I groan, rinsing my red hands in the cold river water.

 

Laurie snorts. “Not likely. The most modern areas that would have that belong to Michael and Freddy.”

 

“Of course,” I mutter, spending another minute washing my hands clean. Then a thought passes through my head, and I ask, “Any indications that the Spirit’s territory is modernized at all?”

 

The blonde opens her mouth, then pauses. “I…don’t really know,” she admits. “I wouldn’t know what to look for in a Chinese place.”

 

“Japanese,” I automatically correct. “The descriptions I’ve read all match traditional Japanese homes,” I try to cover myself for the reflexive slip up. “But even traditional ones would have washing machines somewhere. It’s too convenient not to have them.”

 

“That’s _if_ she’s from a modern time,” she counters. Hrm, true, there’s no way to quickly prove that Rin Yamaoka’s from the late 20th to early 21st century.

 

“Well, just a thought,” I sigh, shaking my hands to get rid of excess water. My fingers hurt from the cold, but I’d take that over the itching. “Alright, where to I hang these things to dry them?”

 

In short order, my clothes are drip drying, and we’re on our way back to the campfire. I want to warm up a bit before finding that Blood Altar and testing what I can get from the Entity.

 

Everyone’s still there, so it looks like a new trial hasn’t started. I sit close to the fire, before Dwight points out, “It won’t actually burn you. If you need to dry off quick and no one’s cooking or making tea, just sit inside it.”

 

I blink at him owlishly, then look at the fire. There’s no tea kettle or pot, and hesitantly I get my hand close to the flame. It’s like putting your hand on a heating pad. Even closer? Maybe the pad on max, but not burning. I let a flame lick me, nerves jangling, but there’s no pain.

 

“It’s always weird at first,” Kate assures me. “But it doesn’t hurt a bit. Here, look.” She kneels down next to me and sticks her hand in, casual as you please, brushing one of the embers. Not a sign of pain, and her skin looks fine.

 

It’s extremely counterintuitive to actually try and touch a fire. All of the trained lessons that my parents nailed into me, all the times I’d grazed a stove or gotten splashed by an oil burn has told me that this is a bad idea. But curiosity is a powerful driving force, and I’ve always had a little firebug in me, if well restrained. So, carefully, keeping a very close gauge on how my nerves are registering this, I place my hand in the fire, then on the embers below the stacked wood.

 

They’re hot, just under my pain tolerance. I’m sure that if I stayed for too long, it would eventually give me the kind of sunburn like redness that a heating pad would give me. But it’s not actually painful, and dammit, I’m cold. So, once I’m certain I can take it, I literally sit on the edge of the fire, sighing as my shivering goes down almost instantly.

 

“Weird doesn’t even begin to cover it,” I tell Kate. “But now that I know I can play with fire, it’s going to take a lot of self control not to actually do that for no good reason.”

 

The singer giggles at that, and I give a wry grin. “Can’t say I blame you,” she says, sitting just a bit further from the fire than I am. “Some times I’m just tempted to take an ember and pocket it, keep a little hand warmer with me.”

 

“I actually tried that,” Dwight admits with a small smile. “So long as you keep it inside this clearing you can do that, but the second you leave it just turns into charcoal.”

 

“So that’s where Nea gets her charcoal for drawing,” Quentin hums. “I’d wondered.”

 

“Oh, that reminds me,” Dwight motions for me to look at him. “You can toss things into the fire for…well, we call them offerings. Bill calls them bribes. Point is, if it burns successfully the Entity can have things change for your upcoming trial to your favor. Shiny coins will add treasure chests, and if you find samples of petrified wood out in the forest, those will remove hooks on the upper field of a map. We don’t know what _everything_ does when we burn it. We know that it likes flowers and envelopes that we’ll sometimes find in supply raids, but we don’t know why. Feng thinks it nets us better favors from it when we use the Blood Altar.” He shrugs.

 

“It likes chalk as well,” Quentin mentions. “And black salt. Some people associate those with luck, and I tend to find better items in the chest when I burn those.”

 

“Wouldn’t be surprised if killers had their own bribes,” Bill speaks up. “Just don’t know what those might be.”

 

I nod along, shifting in place as the fire licks my back. Makes sense they don’t know what kind of offerings the killers might have. Though I notice they haven’t mentioned the Jar of Salty Lips. Then again, I honestly don’t want anything to do with a jar of preserved human lips. That’s just _nasty_.

 

“So, keep an eye out for flowers, envelopes, chalk, and salt?” I reiterate.

 

“And feel free to just throw things in,” Dwight says. “If it doesn’t burn, then we know it doesn’t care about that. And if it does? Then maybe something new will happen. If nothing else, it’s fun to mess with the fire,” he adds with a sheepish grin.

 

“Heh, glad I’m not the only one with an inner firebug,” I reply cheerfully. I check how dry I am, call it good enough, and reluctantly pull away from the warmth of the fire. “OK, speaking of the Altar, I need to check that out before I crash for a week. How’s it work?”

 

Kate grimaces a little. “There’s a bowl and a knife,” she says. “It doesn’t need much to work, but you gotta cut yourself and bleed into the bowl.”

 

“And you can’t take the damn thing with you,” Bill grouses. “Tried it, and it just vanished out of my hand the second I got out of the clearing.”

 

“Well, that’s an occult stereotype if I’ve ever heard one,” I observe blandly. “I swear it seems like it’s just pulled all the bad horror movie tropes and just smashed everything together, cast included.”

 

Laurie’s laughter is rather lacking in humor. “Think I can get a word with the casting department?”

 

“Unfortunately, that’s likely all upper management,” Dwight keeps the joke rolling, his own smile a tad brittle.

 

I clear my throat and change the subject with all the subtly of a sledgehammer. “Is there anyone willing to show me where the altar is?”

 

“I’m on my way there.” I turn to find the source of the new voice, and see Jake at the edge of the clearing. His hands are in the pockets of his jacket, usual toolbox nowhere to be seen. “I’ll show you.”

 

“Thanks,” I give him a nod and trot over to him; he doesn’t wait at all, just turns and starts to head into the forest without a response. I just take that in stride and follow at a slightly slower pace, not wanting to faceplant in the dark.

 

It’s really rather incredible how silently he can move, now that I’m paying more attention to, well, everything. He hardly makes any noise as he crosses the forest floor, his movements smooth and efficient. I’m a lot clumsier in comparison, breaking a twig every few steps and just barely avoiding lifted roots or random stumps that would trip me up.

 

He doesn’t berate me for my relative racket, but then, he doesn’t speak at all. It could be that he’s just not feeling up to conversation, or perhaps he doesn’t know how to break the somewhat awkward silence.

 

As for myself, I keep my mouth shut. I’ve been doing a lot more socializing than I’m used to over the past several days, on top of the stress of the trials. I may as well make use of the break this offers me while it lasts.

 

Additionally, the quiet lets me keep a better ear and eye on my surroundings. Like the river, the area around the altar seems isolated from the camp, and I’m certain that it sees use by the killers if this is the way one would spend blood points in the game.

 

Finally, we get to a new clearing. Directly across from us, towards the back of the gap in the trees, is a large organic looking structure made of what might be black stone. If a ziggurat could look like a crustacean sort of creature, that’s what this altar would be an example of; chitinous stone in several blocky shapes, the base wide and the top crowned by what may be the symbol of Obsession, a fire burning in the middle of the curled, insectile limbs.

 

To the base is a small plinth where the mentioned bowl and knife rest. Both look clean when we approach, much to my relief.

 

Now that I’m getting a better look at the whole temple/altar thing, I’d guesstimate that the larger structure is made of granite or basalt. Both can be very dark rock, and are sturdy to boot in case someone tries to take a hammer to this thing. I can’t say for certain if I’m right though, not unless I were to take a sample for closer examination.

 

As for the bowl and knife, both are much shinier in comparison to the dull temple, and I quickly recognize what the tools are made of; obsidian, also known as volcanic glass. The knife is an obvious choice for the material, being wickedly sharp even when naturally broken. I’d cut myself on a nice chunk I’d gotten as a kid years ago when I went rock hunting around my grandmother’s place. It can be very brittle though, which is why it’s weird seeing a bowl made of the stuff, especially one so smooth and flawless. I wonder if the Entity had shaped the obsidian itself.

 

“You want to go first?” Jake’s voice cuts into my examination of what’s before us.

 

I’m not afraid to admit that I hesitated. “What can I expect?”

 

He shrugs in a decidedly unhelpful manner. “A little cut, a little blood, and then something that I don’t really have the language to explain,” is his response.

 

I close my eyes and count to five. When my patience is more intact, I wave him ahead. “You can go.”

 

He huffs in amusement, having caught my mild exasperation. Then he steps up to the altar and grabs the knife before nicking the back of his pointer finger. A couple drops of blood drop down to the bowl as he holds the injured appendage over it, before he suddenly vanishes under a dark cloud of ember laced smoke.

 

I jump a bit at the unexpected explosion, but the smoke is already falling away and Jake has a few changes. A darker set of pants, new boots, and now he’s got a beard going?

 

“The hell?” I squint at him, not bothering to hide my bewilderment. He picks up a toolbox that came from nowhere off the plinth, and he smirks at me.

 

“Give it a try,” he says with a smirk, clearly entertained by my utter confusion to all this. Ruddy troll.

 

“You’re enjoying this far too much,” I grumble, sidling up to the plinth after he steps away. I pick up the knife with care, and see that it’s already clean of any blood that might’ve remained from Jake’s cut. Huh. The bowl too, not a trace left behind. At least it’s hygienic?

 

OK, enough delaying tactics. Just get this over with. It doesn’t need a lot, so I pull up my left sleeve and choose a spot an inch above the side of my wrist. Nothing flexes there, so the cut shouldn’t too irritated after the fact.

 

With blades this sharp, you _really_ don’t need to apply a lot of force. I barely feel the incision, just the sensation of pressure against my skin, but I still pull away quickly. Blood beads up along the small cut, and I squeeze the spot with a wince in order to get a drop to fall into the bowl. The second it makes impact, everything falls away, and I find myself in the void.

 

It’s a single instance of non-existence before I can see dark grey fog roll around me. Then, from one heart beat to the next, I’m suddenly standing opposite of myself.

 

Except it’s me when I first came into the Entity’s Realm. The white coat, my red hair braided down to my mid back, an outdated pair of jeans, and my somewhat muddy boots. I’m not wearing that right now though, all of it is drying or in the tent. Despite this, the inaccurate reflection is wearing the same shock I’m feeling on her face. In an act of somewhat fearful curiosity, I reach out to see if it’s a mirror, and she matches the action. But I look down, and realize that I have no hand.

 

“Oh what the fuck,” I breathe, and my words come from the other me’s mouth. Or is it me, and I’m out of my body?

 

I raise my right hand, and the Tanya across from me does the same. She doesn’t mirror me actually, it’s her right. My right?

 

“Shit, this is messing with my head,” the two of us mutter. “OK. Let’s get this over with. What can I get out of this place?”

 

I want Perks. That would increase my chances of survival.

 

My other self vanishes from sight in a blink, and the fog shows me something else. I recoil when the Entity’s limbs suddenly loom above me, curled protectively over three glowing shards, all yellow.

 

Those must be the Perks. The ones I’d innately have. But why is that damned spider locking me out of them?! Especially this early? I’ve never used the Bloodweb, it shouldn’t be grabbing for things until I’m the equivalent of level 10!

 

Maybe it’s because I haven’t been sacrificed yet? Dammit, this isn’t fair! Why go through to trouble of dragging me into its domain, then lock me out of an entire power set that would even the odds?!

 

I snarl in frustration, and instead turn my attention to items and add ons. _There_ we go. A med kit, brown. Bandages, rubber gloves, rubbing alcohol. A tool kit, also basic. A battery, a grip, both add ons for flashlights. Almost a shame that Dwight snagged mine.

 

I take the medkit and all of its add ons. I can _feel_ my ability to trade go down, but I still have plenty of whatever they call blood points left over. So I wipe the selection out entirely, curious if more will be spawned. I have pockets, I can carry this.

 

A flare of black smoke, and more appear. Another med kit, which I skip over for needle, thread, and more gauze. That should do for now. I still have more to trade, but I tend to be stingy with any kind of currency I have. I’ll just take what I need for now and save the rest.

 

Alright, now Jake changed his appearance. With that thought, the other me appears again, and I shake my head rapidly at the disorientation this is causing me.

 

“Urgh…let’s just get through this part as quick as possible,” the words come from the mirror’s mouth. “Changes?”

 

I see a glimpse of myself, my braided hair now a bob of curls at chin length. I ‘select’ it, and the other me is suddenly short haired.

 

I move to run my hands through my changed hair, and I watch her do the same thing. It’s been years since I’ve cut my hair, and I’m not used to the lack of weight there. “Might not be a bad idea to go with this,” the other me mutters. I remember the Wraith’s weapon snagging my braid and wince. Shorter hair means less to grab, but it’s more inclined to get in my face. “Wait, doesn’t Myers have hair chunks for add ons too? Dammit, I don’t want to appeal to _that_ guy.”

 

Also true. Hrm. I’ll go with this for now and see what happens.

 

OK, torso changes? Ooh, I can just remove my coat from here! I immediately select the option, and the white ski coat poofs off, showing my navy blue sweater beneath. It’s just too damn bright to justify wearing it outside of camp.

 

Lower body? Nada. Damn. Oh well, guess this is my new present for spawning into trials. I then get the strangest feeling that I’m being asked if I want to wear this now. I shake my head and state clearly, “No thank you.”

 

The feeling recedes, and now I’m looking at my not-a-reflection. “Guess that’s everything for now?” she says awkwardly. “I should get a bag when I do this again so I can bring more shit to camp.”

 

Not a bad idea. They do have that chest of add on material, so I think it’s a bit more free to grab instead of character unique. Convenient, that.

 

Right, I’m done here. And with that thought, the fog falls away, and I’m back in the clearing, blinking rapidly at the sudden shift in location.

 

“Like I said,” Jake speaks up from behind me. “I don’t have the language to explain that.”

 

“No kidding,” I say, rubbing my eyes beneath my glasses. “Christ that’s a trip and a half.” I look at the plinth, find the items I’d selected, and scoop everything up after a bit of shuffling. “Oh, and apparently I’m blocked off from any boosts or powers or whatever you call them right now. Just big ol’ fuck off spider limbs going, ‘nope, you can’t have this.’”

 

“Seriously?” I turn to look at him and see a puzzled frown on his face. “That’s…huh. I’d have thought getting killed would’ve counted. Letting you get Perks, I mean.”

 

“Well apparently not,” I scowl, freely expressing my salt at this while stomping away from the altar. “But I sure as hell ain’t signing up to get hooked willy nilly, so I’ll just have to muddle on and do everything the normal way.” Then a thought occurs to me and I ask, “Does this mean I’m as bound to internal rules of the trial as you guys are? If I’m not fully part of the system yet?”

 

Jake pulls up short in thought, frowning deeply. “I’m not sure,” he responds. “It’s risky though. Even if you haven’t been sacrificed, I’m certain the Entity can find other ways to punish you.”

 

I growl, more to myself than him. “Still tempted to try,” I mutter. “Fuck me over, and I’ll fuck things up right back.”

 

“Just be careful in your targets,” he sighs. “Some of the killers are nastier than others.”

 

“I know,” I say with a nod. “But now I’m curious, and salty, and have motivation.” Then a jaw cracking yawn overtakes me, forcing me to admit, “But that might have to come after some sleep first. Urgh.”

 

“Alright, you can plot later,” Jake jerks his head towards where I assume the camp is. “Come on, let’s get you back.”

 

I follow after him again, and this time the silence isn’t so awkward. The trip doesn’t seem to take as long either, because within a couple minutes I’m back in the clearing with the campfire, Jake seating himself on a log as he goes over his new kit.

 

“Uh, where do I put my stuff?” I realize I should have thought of this earlier, with both hands occupied with a toolkit and a medkit.

 

“Put it by your cot for now,” Laurie speaks up. “You look dead on your feet.”

 

I shift my glasses up with my wrist and rub one eye. “I feel like it,” I admit. “Alright, tomorrow’s another day.” I then meander over to the tent and take an unoccupied spot next to Tapp, gently setting my new loot down before making myself comfortable.

 

So, either a trial tomorrow, or a supply run. Should be a learning experience, either way. Still, hoping for the supply run. I’d like to explore without having to haul ass from a homicidal maniac, thanks.


	10. Findings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just dropping this here to say it's not dead. Updates may be uncertain over the next month or two due to RL issues, but it's certainly not dead. Have too many ideas for that. That said, this is a bit on the short side. Apologies for that.

If I dream, I don’t remember it. Not unusual for me, and I’ll take that over the sensory overload dream I’d had earlier.

 

But just because I slept, doesn’t necessarily mean I feel well rested. When I’m shaken by the shoulder, I groan and blink blearily to see Feng staring down at me.

 

“You said you wanted to go on the next supply run, right?” she whispers, mindful of others who are resting.

 

I mumble something approaching an affirmative, rubbing my gritty eyes.

 

“Then get a move on. We’re heading to the Red Forest, we need more herbs and shit.” I get the covers pulled off of me, and it takes more effort than I’d like to admit not to snap at her. I am _not_ at my best when I’m half asleep.

 

I stumble out of the tent and my first thought goes to my semi-washed clothes. I check on them, but they’re only half dry. I must’ve only been out for a few hours then. Damn. Guess I’ll go with the borrowed lot I went to bed in. I sigh a little and shuffle over to the campfire.

 

“OK. Tea, some food, then data on the Red Forest,” I state as I plop down onto a log next to David.

 

“Food’s comin’,” David tells me and hands over a beaten-up cup. “This one’s on the bitter side, but it’ll help if you get hit by the Huntress’ hatchets.”

 

“Patrols her territory?” I ask, blowing the tea a bit to cool it. I’d rather not burn my tongue off.

 

“Don’t see her often outside of the forest if she’s not in a trial,” David nods. “So you’re probably gonna have to dodge her.”

 

I squint at the pot over the fire and take a sniff. Meat of some kind, some potatoes or other kind of tubers, and some slightly overdone carrots. Then something pings. “The journal mentioned that the Red Forest has a shack with a fire inside and meat hanging,” I say. “A smoking house. Think we can make off with a hank?”

 

Bill barks out a laugh. “Sure, but boy the woman gets bitchy when we do that. Starts bringing out the poisoned hatchets instead of just the normal ones.”

 

I wince. “Right. Meat’s off limits. What are we going for then?”

 

“Herbs.” Claudette enters the clearing with a large sack slung across her shoulder. Several more empty bags are in hand. “Vegetables, roots, fruits, berries. Anything that you think might be edible, I’ll sort it out later.”

 

“Doubt you’ll find anything about your side quest there, so I’d suggest going along with the main mission,” Feng comments as she takes a sack from the botanist.

 

“Side what?” Claudette asks, puzzled.

 

“I want more information of everything from the maps the Entity pulled, the Entity itself, to the killers’ previous histories before they wound up here,” I explain. “Anything might be useful; have you seen the missing person’s poster I returned from the swamp?”

 

“Right!” Claudette straightens up a bit. “Dwight showed me.” She looks at everyone else. “Does anyone mind if we keep at least something of an eye out that might glean more information about the Huntress or where the Red Forest might’ve been?”

 

“Not that David or I are going,” Bill states. “But I’m for it. Worst is you find nothing and have to resurrect again.”

 

“That always fuckin’ sucks with her,” David grumbles. “Gettin’ your head cracked open with a ax _hurts_.”

 

“I _really_ doubt we’re gonna find anything, but whatever,” Feng shrugs. “Food’s more important. You wanna waste your time, that’s on you.”

 

“In one respect, Feng’s right,” Claudette admits, looking at me apologetically. “We should focus on food, and I’ll go for medical herbs specifically. But if the Huntress isn’t particularly aggressive today, I don’t see a problem with it.”

 

I nod, relieved, and accept a sack from the Canadian. “Got it. I’ll keep an eye out for food and data as a secondary.” Then I frown slightly. “Why is it only a three man group?”

 

“Fewer chances of a trial starting,” Claudette reminds me. “Four man teams are dangerous for that reason. Two or three man groups are safer, but the more predatory killers can still hurt us outside of a trial.”

 

“Right,” I grimace. “Good to know.”

 

With that solidified, I get handed a sack, I finish my tea, and am also given a bowl of soup to down. Once it’s actually cool enough to eat, I scarf it; I’ve never been a really slow eater, so it’s easy for me to finish the food off in a timely manner and get on to more important things. In this case, a potential addition to my research project.

 

With that down, we’re off through the woods. I follow Claudette’s path carefully, never letting her out of my sight if I can help it. I’ve never been very good at navigating by myself, and the idea of getting lost here is honestly terrifying. Our pace isn’t the quickest, perhaps the two more experienced survivors aware of how difficult it can be for me to travel through the underbrush and wooded area. But the pace also eats distance, and after maybe half an hour, I pick up on a change.

 

I smell rain. Rain, wet wood, woodsmoke. I stop and straighten. “Are we close?” I whisper as quietly as I can.

 

“Just about,” Feng answers. “Good nose. This is basically the line where her territory starts.”

 

So, not too far beyond is the Red Forest then. Good to know.

 

While the first indicator is the change of scent, it’s impossible to miss the rain when it starts. As an Oregon native, it’s something I’m quite used to, but it doesn’t change the fact that my current clothing isn’t what I’d call acceptable for the current climate. Cold water drops on my head and exposed hands, making me grimace. Here’s to hoping any kind of information might survive the constant water fall.

 

Then again, I’m thinking of paper records. It’s entirely possible that something might be here that would relate to Ana or her history, and still be something durable enough to survive the transition into the Entity’s realm.

 

Soon the generic evergreens that seem to make up the filler space between territories give way to wide based trees with broad leaves. I’m reminded of sequoias with some of them, but those don’t exist in the area around Ukraine and Russia. Then again, I’m not a botanist like Claudette is. I’ll ask her about it later, if she hasn’t already pinned down the species.

 

There’s no sign of the Huntress’ humming, so I’ll take that as she’s distant enough to be out of throwing range, or just out of the house so to speak. Maybe a dangerous assumption, but I _need_ to stay on the move and not lose my nerve.

 

“Feng, you know what to look for,” Claudette whispers. “Tanya, look for any flowers, or plants that look like they have thick roots. You’ve got a trowel in the bag, if it’s a tuber, dig it up.”

 

I nod in reply. Simple enough, hopefully. It’s a shame we can’t bring trowels into the trials. I’m sure Bill would gladly show us all the ways to weaponize or otherwise make use of them.

 

We split up and start searching. I find several different flowers, including plenty of dandelions in a patch. I go to dig the lot up; I recall that they can be used whole sale, from the petals to the leaves to the roots. I think it can be a source of caffeine too? Maybe that’s where some of the stronger teas come from.

 

When I’ve shaken as much wet dirt as I could from the plants, I put them in the bag and move on. A few minutes later, I find a thick stemmed plant that looks like it could be a tuber. When I dig it up, I’m much more uncertain if it’s edible, but Claudette did say she’d sort it out later. I put it into the bag as well.

 

Flowers, a few more roots, constantly keeping an ear out for Ana’s distinctive humming. But all that’s around is the crows, the rain, and the occasional glimpse of the other survivors.

 

It’s when I’m digging through another patch of flowers when my trowel goes _clunk_. It’s a rather metallic sound, and it’s such a surprise I hesitate for a moment before curiosity drives me to dig deeper.

 

Scrape, scrape, scratch, all metal. Then I find its round, shortly before I find a rusted metal point on the object. A little more scrabbling, and I find an old, battered military helmet. If I’m not too mistaken, it might be a German WWI helmet, for the higher level infantry. At least if the iron cross and the pointy thing at the top is any indication.

 

Hey, I know jack about military terms! That’s what Bill’s gonna before when we get back to camp!

 

I continue to brush off the dirt off my discovery, noticing some dents and what looks to be old blood stains on the inside of the helmet. Then a branch snaps, and I look up, suddenly remembering where I am.

 

Ana, the Huntress, is standing barely two feet away from me, staring down in utter silence behind her cat mask. Her ax is in hand, but not raised, the Amazonian woman tilting her head in a curious manner.

 

“Privyet.” The Russian greeting slips from my mouth before I can even think. Outside of food based terminology, I know a total of three---no, four words in Russian. I’ve just used one of them.

 

For a moment, Ana is even stiller than she had been. I similarly freeze, afraid that I might’ve provoked her by speaking. Then her head straightens up, and she says something in Russian in response.

 

Her voice is surprisingly smooth, but then, her constant humming would keep that muscle in good shape, if nothing else. Something that’s not happening, I’ve just realized. No humming. No wonder she snuck up on me, if that’s something that only happens in trials to even the odds a bit.

 

I hazard a guess that she’s asking if I know her native language, and I shake my head. “Nyet,” I say aloud, and with my trowel, start to full the hole the helmet left behind.

 

It’s a tense silence that fills the air as I work, but I know bolting now would likely be a lethal mistake. Ana fancies herself to be the ultimate predator, and running would validate that viewpoint. Once I’ve filled in the hole and flattened out the earth, I carefully put both the trowel and the helmet in my bag, not making any sudden movements. Ana is still watching me as I stand with caution, and I turn to her directly.

 

“Dasvedanya,” I say to her, giving the killer a polite bow before I do the gutsiest thing I’ve pulled off here yet; I turn my back to her and walk away.

 

My heart is in my throat, but I’m determined not to run unless and until the Huntress starts the confrontation. Despite how insanely dangerous this is, I can’t help but be curious as to how she’ll react to a relatively polite exchange.

 

Then a hatchet whizzes past my head by a few inches, and I yelp before hauling ass. I guess her patience has run out, and now she wants me gone.

 

I don’t get another weapon my way, and no sign of her chasing after me, even as I continue to run straight out of her territory. I’m fairly convinced that the hatchet was thus a warning shot rather than a proper attempt to kill me. The thought rattles around my head when I find Feng and Claudette a couple of minutes later in the Entity’s forest, the former nursing a hacked open shoulder.

 

“She speaks Russian,” I blurt out before either can say anything.

 

“What?” Feng snaps, clearly in quite a bit of pain and angry for it.

 

“I, uh, sorry,” I duck my head apologetically, but my excitement for an almost peaceful interaction with the Huntress prevents me from feeling too ashamed. “I just---it can wait until you get treated.”

 

“Oh no, _please_ go on about something totally random and probably wrong while I bleed out everywhere,” the gamer says testily.

 

I try not to be too irritated with her response. Her shoulder’s a mess, and the pain would make anyone temperamental, but getting blown off entirely when I’ve learned something new’s always been a good way to get under my skin. Then again, I should probably ask some of the more perceptive folks around the camp about their observations of the Huntress before I declare anything. Verification’s always a good idea.

 

“I’ll wait until we get to the campfire,” I say to Feng, who sneers at me and is about to fire back before Claudette pulls her attention away by packing the wound.

 

“OW! Fucking shit, be more careful, would you?!” she instead snarls at the botanist.

 

“I will when you stop taking stupid risks,” Claudette replies primly. “You went for the smokehouse again, didn’t you? I can smell the yew.”

 

“Oh fuck off, it’s not like she needs it,” Feng growls, but she’s starting to sway a bit, and looks rather green around the gills.

 

“Whatever you say.” Claudette seems to just let the other girl’s temper roll off her with ease, taking Feng’s good arm and slinging it over her shoulders. “Could you grab her bag for me?” It had been dropped on the forest floor while the gamer got treated.

 

“Sure,” I say, picking it up and hefting it up on the opposite side of my bag. Even with the helmet I’ve found, Feng’s is heavier than my bag. I wonder if she’d actually succeeded in raiding some meat from Ana?

 

Outside of some slurred cursing from Feng, the journey’s a quiet one as we head back to camp. All in all, I’d call this ‘side-quest’ a decent success.


End file.
